Resurgence
by CrowningAster
Summary: Fred Weasley survived the Battle of Hogwarts 4 years ago, but barely, and not without deep physical and emotional wounds. The wizarding world has remained quiet since, but when he and his twin stumble upon a battle and a mysterious girl late one night in Diagon Alley, they know everything is about to change.
1. Chapter 1--Restoration

**Chapter 1-Restoration**

It was nearing two in the morning, and although 93 Diagon Alley had been closed to the public for close to five hours, the inside of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was just as lively as ever.

Large crates with little eyes peeking through, small boxes emitting smoke and loud popping noises, jars containing rather vile looking slime, and various other shop products were gracefully whizzing through the air in an orderly fashion. They were organizing themselves on shelves and self-packing into storage cabinets neatly. The ground below was a bit of a mess, with products and their wrappings strewn about, and the air smelled faintly of smoke from a few accidental explosions.

The red haired twin shopkeepers appeared a bit lost amongst the mess. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was their pride and joy but it was also a huge responsibility—and for Fred and George Weasley, "responsibility" was a four letter word. They did what they had to do to keep their joke shop up and running nicely, but usually waited until the very last possible minute to handle the not-so-fun stuff—in this instance, taking inventory, re-stocking, and tucking things away in storage. Magic, of course, made the job a little easier, but even the cleverest of charms couldn't save the twins from being responsible business owners and getting their hands a little dirty.

They had made the mistake once before of trying to enchant the shop to clean and organize itself without their supervision, and upon arriving at their business in the morning, the Weasley twins discovered nothing less than a disaster. As it turned out, the products trying to organize themselves had gotten into a squabble of sorts (it seemed as though the Skiving Snackboxes and the Portable Swamps tussled around over which product got to place itself in the display window) and their joke shop had to be closed down for several days while the twins had a professional magical cleanup crew come in.

"Interesting," Fred Weasley had said, arms crossed as he tilted his head backwards to observe the ceiling, which had grown swamp moss threaded with snotty nosebleed discharge.

"Very interesting," replied George, who was cautiously but curiously studying a giant pus-filled boil growing off one of the walls.

Most business owners would have viewed this event as a minor cataclysm. But Fred and George Weasley, never to be discouraged by what they so delicately referred to as a "product hiccup", ordered the cleanup crew to dispose of everything besides the big bouncing wall boil. They ended up roping off that corner of the store and let patrons take photographs with it, which had affectionately come to be known as "Barry the Boil".

This night, the twins had set out to avoid another disaster, deciding not to push their luck by realizing the low probability of another fruitful result like Barry coming out of another Wheezes' shop product battle.

But not without a fight.

"Oh, come on Georgie, it could be fun! We could leave out the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder next to the fireworks, that might be interesting."

"Oh yes, just brilliant," George had replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And when the Ministry comes after us demanding to know why great big 'W' shaped fireworks are setting off blankets of permanent darkness all over London, I'm sure everyone will be very entertained."

Fred had thrown his head back in laughter and begrudgingly locked the front doors of the shop, flipped the sign to read 'Closed', undid his first few shirt buttons and rolled up his sleeves.

Now, nearly five hours later, their job wasn't quite done but the twins were ready to tap out.

George sat on top of a bright purple crate that was intermittently violently rattling, his head tilted backwards to rest against the wall. His large, calloused hands were covered in a mysterious sparkling ash-like grime, that had become smeared all over his face when he attempted to wipe the sweat from his brow. He sat in a bit of a daze; the background whirring, whistling, and puffing noises of his shop had become a soothing lullaby. He could feel himself dozing off when the great rattling coming from within the crate he was perched upon started up again. He cried out in half-asleep surprise as the entire crate-with him still sitting upon it-was lifted off the ground for a brief moment as it shook violently, then stopped as suddenly as it had started, and thudded to the ground. George sprang to his feet and stared at the crate with a mixture of disgust and confusion on his face.

"Bloody HELL, what in Merlin's name do we have in that crate, Fred?"

In the silence that followed, George looked up and scanned their mess of a shop, looking for his brother. He spotted a head bright with red hair between a couple bookshelves towards the back of the store, and quietly approached it.

"Fred?"

When he came upon the sight of his brother, he couldn't help but grin to himself. Fred was…well, one could technically call it 'standing' but it was more of a pathetic lean. His current stature reminded George of a drooping plant, a failing flower in a garden. His feet were still planted on the ground but his entire torso and head were leaning on the wooden bookshelf; his upper lip caught on the corner and a delicate dribble of saliva escaping his mouth.

George smirked at the thoughts of all he could do right now to frighten the daylights out of his twin—a teeny, tiny firework dropped down his pants perhaps, an Acid Pop stuck into his gaping mouth, or maybe one of their newest products, a Disappearing Giant Earthworm (Fred's invention actually-regular old earthworms wriggling in a jar of dirt that explode into the size of Anacondas when dropped on a surface and leave a stinking trail of slime behind them. Enough for a disgusting shock factor but shrink back to regular size after ten minutes or so) wrapped around his ankles. The possibilities were endless but George fought the ever-tempting urge to cause mischief and sighed. His brother had worked hard all day and he deserved a break…they both did. The shop was a mess and the thought of scrambling to clean it all in the morning before customers started arriving put a pit of dread in his stomach. For now, George reminded himself to be grateful for what he had. The shop was still open, still wildly successful, and Fred was still alive.

For now, all was right in the world.

000000

_Four years ago_

_St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

"I'm afraid your brother probably won't survive the night, Mr. Weasley."

The Healer's voice sounded a bit distant, echoing, as though he were yelling to him down at the end of a long tunnel. Everything in George's vision swam before him, appearing to melt together.

"Mr. Weasley?"

The floor under him lurched, for a second it reminded George of the sensation of being yanked away by a Portkey. A high pitched ringing began sounding in his ears, and it was deafening. He clapped his hands over the sides of his head, his right hand vaguely aware he no longer possessed an ear on that side to hold on to, and slowly sank down to his knees, tucking his head down and resting his forehead against the cool tile floor.

The Healer crouched before him, craning his neck in an attempt to get a good look at Georges face.

"We may have to get a bed for this one too," George heard him calling down the hall.

At that moment, the world came snapping back into place. He couldn't be taken away, poked and prodded and prescribed potions. Not now. Fred needed him. George shakily sat up, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and squinting his eyes closed hard before slowly opening them.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. What about Fred?"

The Healer's eyebrows were furrowed together, creating deep lines of worry across his forehead. George could tell he was apprehensive about speaking again, not wanting to send him into another fainting spell.

"I'm FINE, you stupid git, now answer me about my brother!"

The Healer remained calm and composed amongst George's outburst, sighed, and extended his hand to George, who after a moment's pause, sheepishly took it and stood slowly.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"It's quite alright, Mr. Weasley. Here, at least drink some of this," the Healer said soothingly, and reached behind him to a cart. He turned back around and handed George a glass of ice cold pumpkin juice, which he took and threw back immediately, draining instantly. He leaned against the doorway, panting a little, and held the cold glass to his forehead.

"You were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse tonight, weren't you?"

George didn't answer him, just stared over the Healer's shoulder into Fred's room. He could see his twin lying on the bed, his chest rising and falling, his head lolled to the side, and the room was dark but danced with different flickering colors—charms covered almost every inch of Fred's body. A pink bubble-like one covering his nose and mouth, helping him breathe. A black cloud wrapped around his eyes, shielding them from any light and helping his shattered eye sockets repair. His entire torso encased in a golden, translucent box—George wasn't quite sure what exactly that one was for, but considering Fred had been buried under a cascade of rubble, internal damage was inevitable. And some regular, un-enchanted bandages wrapped around various parts of his body, already stained with blood and begging for a Healer's attention to be changed. Keeping his sight on his brother, he answered the Healer in a hushed voice.

"Tell me more about Fred."

The Healer sighed again, looking over his shoulder at Fred, and back again at George. "Your brother was absolutely crushed, Mr. Weasley. The amount of wreckage piled upon him was devastating for all of his internal organs. We of course are trying our best, but we've never seen one this bad pull through…there's only so much magic we can work on a body so broken."

George nodded curtly. "Can I change his bandages?"

The Healer's face was soft, gentle and understanding, but still apprehensive. "Are you sure you don't want me to take a look at you?"

George just shook his head and wordlessly strode past him into his brother's room. He headed over to the room's supply cabinet and retrieved a roll of bandage, quietly closing the pantry door and padding over to his twin's bedside.

George had seen Fred roughed up before. Years of being Beaters on Gryffindor's Quidditch team had taught the twins to expect generous amounts of bumps and bruises. Time and time again, experiments shut away in Fred and George's bedroom had gone awry and sent one or both of them flying across the room and colliding with a wall or something equally solid and painful. George had also witnessed Fred become involved with a few scuffles against other wizards, usually over something pathetic—Fred had always been known as light hearted and humorous, but occasionally suffered from a nasty temper. It had been that temper, combined with an unwillingness to learn when to just _stop,_ when enough was enough, that had landed him in fisticuffs a few times over the years.

A black eye here, a shallow gash on the forehead there, a tender bruise managing to land mostly everywhere over the years. But nothing like this. No injury or affliction had ever covered his brother so thoroughly before to the point where his whole body looked…his mind flashed back to the Healer's word: _"broken_". As though any second, he could crumble upon himself. Even Fred's skin had taken on a grayish, ghostly sort of color, flowered with purple bruising.

Tears bit at George's eyes but he determinedly stuck his chin up and sucked a deep breath in through his nose, blinking hard, willing the moisture in his eyes to drain back. He wasn't sure where he could possibly be summoning his strength from right now, he had half a mind to just collapse on the floor and give up for a while—but he knew he had to be strong now, for Fred.

"I'm here, Freddie. I'm here," he whispered. He scanned his brother's body again and sighed. "You've really made a mess of things here, haven't you, you clumsy prat? Letting an entire wall fall on you. _You would."_

He sadly smiled to himself and started working on Fred's left foot, suspended by a loop of fabric holding his crushed leg in the air. His leg was encased in a golden charm similar to the one surrounding his chest, but his foot remained exposed. George gently unraveled the bandage which made a disgusting sticking sound as it was peeled off and grimaced at the gash running down the entire side of his twin's foot.

"Oi Fred, that's disgusting. Your feet were already troll-like. I didn't think it was possible for them to look any uglier..."

Fred laid motionless, his eyes still shrouded and his mouth gaping open and slightly obscured by the pink bubble charm, but George held on to hope his twin was still in there somewhere, listening to every syllable of banter George could muster the strength to give to him right now. He imagined Fred was listening, smiling on the inside, every joke and witty remark George made making him stronger and motivating him to heal faster so he could sit up and smack him upside the head.

As he gingerly began re-wrapping Fred's foot with the fresh bandage, he felt eyes on him, and looked up to see his mother standing in the dark doorway, watching. At first he didn't know what to say, and then just settled for, "Hi Mum. Thought Dad was taking you out for a walk through the garden?"

Upon arriving at St. Mungo's in utter chaos and panic and her son being briskly taken away by a team of Healer's with horrified looks upon their faces, Molly Weasley had experienced a nervous breakdown of sorts. Slowly collapsing to the ground, her husband's arms wrapped around her tightly, she had just kept sobbing and repeating, "Please save him. Please. Please save him."

Now, Molly stood in the doorway, watching George tend to his twin in a way she hadn't ever seen him be before, with anyone. The way he had gently stripped off Fred's foot bandage, held a fresh one in place with his thumb, and slowly re-wrapped it while talking to Fred softly as though they were in conversation, was…tender. Loving.

As the twins' mother, she knew them in a way that no one else could, and had observed them all their lives. Most people saw Fred and George as more or less exact clones of one another, the same in every way. This was almost true, but Molly had always picked up on the slight deviations between the two—the most obvious being that, while the twins were both extremely sarcastic, extremely mischievous, and seemed almost incapable of taking anything seriously, Fred had always been the slightly darker of the two. "_Crueler,"_ she had once overheard Ron saying to Harry while he told a tale of some of Fred's pranks. Upon hearing that, her heart sank at the thought that anyone could describe one of her children as "cruel", but admittedly realized the truth behind it—while the twins were both equally guilty in being troublemakers and utter terrors sometimes, Fred was more of the ringleader, the instigator, and always managed to take it a little farther than George.

But even so, even knowing George to be slightly gentler and kinder than his twin, she had still never seen him like this. The twins had always been extraordinarily close, but now, upon watching George nurse Fred's wounds, she realized just how much they completed one another. As though they shared not only a never-ending list of inside jokes, secret schemes, and plans for pranks, they also shared the same soul.

She walked over to Fred's bedside closest to the door, standing across from George. Her very swollen eyes welled up with tears again.

"Mum, you don't have to be here right now if you're going to collapse in a blubbering mess again. I'm taking care of him."

Molly Weasley managed a sad smile through her fresh tears. She placed her left hand gingerly on Fred's, resting on the mattress, and reached across to place her right one upon George's cheek.

"You're a good boy," she whispered.

George reached up to hold his mother's hand upon his face, and with his other, took Fred's closest to his. The two of them, each holding one of Fred's hands, stood quietly then.

000000

The potential for a rather epic prank was wide open right now, but instead, George settled for collecting a heavy pile of books, standing directly behind his twin, and suddenly dropping them on to the wooden floor.

The loud thud of the pile landing send vibrations up Georges feet, and Fred awoke from his slumber with a start.

"Argh!" he yelled, jumping, and straightened up. He had that bewildered look upon his face that you get after waking up from a deep slumber and not quite knowing what time it was, where you were, or how you got there. George leaned on to the staircase banister with his elbows, his head bowed as his whole body shook with laughter.

Fred took a moment to compose himself, running his hands through his messy red hair, and rubbing his face vigorously. He abruptly paused when he realized he was accidentally smearing his drool all over his face, and slowly drew his hands away, a string of saliva connecting and hanging delicately in the air.

"Oh Fred, you are the picture of class," George sighed.

Fred disgustedly wiped his hands on the sides of his pants, and rubbed his face with the bottom of his shirt.

"And you're the picture of boredom. Dropping books, really? I expect more out of you," he replied with feigned disappointment. "A firework down the pants, at least."

George grinned widely and clapped his brother on the back. "I considered it, mate."

The two of them stood in silence for a moment and both sighed as they observed the mess before them.

"Screw this, let's just head to bed and regret it in the morning," Fred muttered.

George nodded approvingly. "My thoughts exactly."

000000

_Present Time_

_Somewhere on the cliffs of Wales_

She thought about all of the children sleeping soundly in their beds.

She thought about the last time she had slept in a real bed. It had been ages.

She thought about all of those children being tucked in lovingly by their mothers and fathers.

How she longed to see her family again. Just one last time.

_I'm sorry_, she wanted to say.

_I was a fool._

_Please, take me home and tuck me in bed, safe and sound._

'Safe.'

What did that word even mean anymore?

Mom. Dad.

What had they done tonight?

Had they sat down to a meal? Had they laughed? Had they smiled?

Had they thought of her?

The rain came down in thick, ice cold sheets. The waves crashed against the shore, and she shivered.

It was so cold.

Her back was turned, it was met with a strong kick and she fell into the mud.

Her face dripped with the slimy mixture of grass, muck, and blood.

Mom. Dad.

She begged for her life.

A fistful of her hair pulled her to her feet.

She staggered.

Warm. Warm, in bed. Safe. Safe and sound.

She was picked up and flung through the air.

In the second that she stayed in flight, all she wished for was a safe place to land.


	2. Chapter 2--Burned

**Authors note:** I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter...we're about to get into the juicy stuff! If you enjoy reading my story I would very much appreciate reviews and follows. I return the favor and will review some of your stories as well! I also welcome constructive criticism in Private Messages. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter 2—Burned**

The Weasley twins stood among their mess of a store in admitted defeat.

They had ironically set out on a mission to _clean_ and _organize_ yet now found themselves in a sea of parchment receipts, wrappings, upturned boxes, and random products floating, buzzing, and even walking around.

This predicament wasn't exactly a new one—growing up, countless times, Fred and George had been utterly harassed by their mother to clean their room, and, as she screeched it, _"Stop living like mountain trolls!" _Yet when they finally gave in and headed up to their shared bedroom back in the Burrow, the mess only seemed to get messier. Each dreaded time, as Molly Weasley spent the entire day having small panic attacks while hearing loud bangs, explosions, and cries of pain coming from their bedroom, she came to regret her request, and vowed to never ask them to "clean" their room again.

But Fred and George, ever inventive and mischievous, were the experts on how to turn a mundane task into a fun one, purposefully or not. "Cleaning" their room always turned into an adventure of discovery as they pulled apart mountains of laundry, went rummaging through their disaster of a closet, yanked unknown objects out from under their beds and shook out their wardrobe drawers. What would start out as the twins miserably and half heartedly making their beds and tucking away some shoes would inevitably turn into discovering a bit of crumpled up parchment with prank ideas scrawled upon it, or half finished inventions stuffed away somewhere, and they would spend the rest of the day with their bedroom door locked. Usually, when the threats by their mother began again and they were forced to come downstairs for dinner, one or both would emerge with a small injury or alteration to their appearance of some sort. Molly found the times when they emerged apparently unscathed but both wearing enormous grins the most disturbing.

By now, at 24 years old and owning and sharing a flat above their shop, they had matured just enough to take proper care of their personal living space. Their flat would probably never be what a visitor would call "tidy" and would DEFINITELY never be up to their mother's standards; but they managed to maintain a mildly respectable household, and truthfully, the bits of chaos and mess didn't bother them. Growing up at the Burrow surrounded by siblings and immensely poor, their family had never quite managed to catch up on all that ever needed to be done.

Tonight inside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, history had repeated itself. Their mission to take inventory, re-stock, rearrange displays, and send things down to the basement for storage had resulted in Fred and George excitedly re-discovering things they had forgotten about, and it had become a cycle as the hours wore on: start to clean, find something interesting, play with said interesting thing, return to the mission of cleaning, repeat.

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and the twins now stood at the bottom of their winding purple and orange staircase ready to leave the mess behind and get a few hours of precious sleep before desperately attempting to make their shop once again presentable in the morning.

"Well, I'm going to do something mildly adult-like and make sure our front….door's….locked," said Fred, attempting and failing to stifle a yawn.

George snorted. "Yes, please do. Wouldn't want anyone to come steal our riches, now would we?"

Fred smirked and headed to the front of the shop, tiredly dragging his feet and yawning again. He heard the first few stairs behind him lightly creak as George headed up to their flat.

For the first time in months, Fred noticed no delicate frosting of ice on the glass window panes on the front door and display windows. It seemed as though spring was now finally upon them, as the second week of April winded down. The urge to immediately turn around and follow his brother upstairs to head to bed was immense, but Fred found himself unlocking the door and sticking his head outside. The night air was incredibly refreshing, and he took in deep breaths of it.

He opened the door a bit wider and leaned against the frame, letting the air wash over him and staring out into the dark and empty street of Diagon Alley. Street lamps flickered but it was otherwise still. With a bittersweet feeling, Fred realized if someone had told him four years ago that he and his brother would be here today, alive and well, enjoying success from their business and local fame, he wouldn't have believed them.

Then again, alive and _well_ was a relative term for Fred. He had sustained his close relationships with family and friends, and remained a vital part of the Order of the Phoenix, which had remained mostly uneventful since Voldemort's downfall four years ago. With the exception of the occasional rogue Death Eater or insane dark wizard attempting Voldemort's resurrection, actual combat and confrontation with the dark arts was scarce. He remained fully committed to his business with George and maintained his snark, sarcasm, wit, and seemingly permanent grin he had always been known for.

Well...

Most of the time.

With a grunt, Fred put his arms above his head, holding on to the top of the door frame with his fingertips and stretching his back and chest. He let his arms fall and started to roll his neck, seeking a satisfying crack, when a spasm of pain shot up his spine. It hit him quite suddenly and the pain was so sharp, Fred fell to one of his knees. He choked upon a sharp intake of breath and swore out loud, seeing spots dance and fade before his eyes. He remained posturing down on one knee until the pain subsided and his muscles relaxed from their vice-like tension.

Some days were good, almost normal, actually. He could stand all day, sprint up and down stairs, carry things, even mount his broom and play an all-day game of Quidditch with his family back at the Burrow.

Other days weren't so good—he would find himself suffering with aches and pains for hours on end, the mere action of getting out of bed racking his body with sharp attacks of agony. The severity waxed and waned. Sometimes he found himself suffering a fiery sensation shooting up and down an extremity but he was able to plaster a grin on his face and suppress the pain as though nothing was happening. Other times he found himself humiliated and bed ridden for one or more days at a time, pain relieving potions no use. He would send a worrisome George downstairs to tend to the shop while he remained shut-in, both his body and his pride aching deeply.

The loud crack of an Apparition and the clatter of metal rubbish bins falling exploded into the quiet night, disrupting both the stillness of the Alley and Fred's thoughts. He looked up quickly, ignoring the pain spasm in his neck, and scanned the empty street in front of him. It was silent for a moment. And then, a woman's desperate scream pierced the quiet, so loud that it echoed down the street. Then, sound of rubbish bins clanging about and rolling again.

He stood quickly, grimacing in pain, and sprinted back towards the stairs. "George!" he called, but his twin had apparently heard the outside commotion as well, and was already hurriedly heading down the staircase, wand at the ready. He was still on the second platform of stairs but grasped the banister with his hands and swung his body over the edge of the railing, vaulting and landing on the ground next to Fred. He hit the ground already in a jog, as he and Fred exchanged confused looks and sprinted to the front door. The two of them stopped on the front stoop, unsure where to go.

"Where did it come from?" George asked breathlessly, scanning the dark street.

"I dunno," Fred replied, shaking his head and looking around as well. "Kind of almost sounded like—"

His voice was interrupted by another yell, from a man's voice now, and the bright red flash of a spell that came flickering vaguely from the right side of the shop. The twins exchanged looks again and took off running. They didn't go far—they had barely made it past the backside of their shop when they saw up ahead another flash illuminating an alleyway, the light flickering all the way up to the building tops, and this time made out the man's voice clearly. "Stupefy!" the voice yelled.

They kept sprinting ahead, and suddenly heard the woman's voice screaming again, but now it sounded like they had surpassed it.

"Where in the bloody hell is it coming from?!" Fred exclaimed, stopping short and frantically looking around.

"Over there!" George yelled, pointing to the thin alleyway behind the white brick of Miss Teeley's Muggle Trinkets and Toys.

They doubled back, bearing right, and charged into the tiny side street. George stopped short to not trip over the metal rubbish bins that were rolling towards them, and Fred slammed into his brother's back, unable to stop in time. George threw out his arm to steady his twin and Fred gripped it to avoid falling over, while wildly looking about and taking in the scene that they had entered upon.

A man, short in stature and wearing a long darkly colored coat that dragged on the ground, stood at the far end of the alleyway, his wand raised and pulsing red. The light illuminated his face, his jaw and cheeks covered in dark stubble, the edge of his mouth bleeding and curled into a hateful sneer.

The man's eyes flickered with surprise as he took in the unexpected sight of Fred and George, but to both of their shock, ignored them and pointed his wand to the shadowy left side of the alley.

"Stupefy!" he yelled again.

Movement came bursting out of the shadows as a woman's figure, also dressed darkly but topped with a messy head of long, light blonde hair, came darting out. The spell missed her and hit the wall, red sparks, bits of brick and a small cloud of dust exploding outwards. She stayed bent at the waist and threw her body forward in a sloppy tumble, crying out as she slammed into the opposite wall.

"HEY!" George yelled, darting forward a few feet to stand beside the fallen girl and raising his wand.

In that moment, Fred realized just how clumsy and out of practice for actual battle he had become in the past few peaceful years. He was patting his hands all over his body, desperately searching for his wand, and when he finally found it in his left seat pocket, he pulled it out upside-down, ignoring the uncomfortable hammering of his heart in his chest. It was from more than just his and George's frantic sprint down the street, it didn't feel like physical exhaustion. It felt like panic…he was scared to death. He tensely ground his teeth together and his hands shook as he forced himself to focus and raise his wand alongside his brother.

The man looked at them with an expression of disgust, but once again ignored the twins and pointed his wand at the girl on the ground. He opened his mouth and raised his wand, but George leapt forward again.

"Expelliarmus!" George yelled. The man quickly crouched down and covered his head, the spell bouncing off the wall behind him and setting a jet of green light sailing back towards the twins. George confidently slid to the left and the spell passed between them, and he once again leapt forward brandishing his wand, attempting to corner the man.

Fred felt as though his feet were lead. He wanted to join in with George so badly and dominate, just like old times. In years past they would stand side by side, grasping their wands in their left hands in identical fashions, both laughing loudly as they fought together. Dark wizards and Death Eaters, taunting them at first... _"Oooh no, not the joke shop brothers! What're you gonna_ _do, Weasleys, throw me a cursed fudge?"_ would always get the same look—an expression of terrified realization that spread across their faces as the brothers charged at them, taking turns sending spells, seamlessly moving together in fluidity as though they were one in the same. They had been a force to be reckoned with while dueling; no one wanted to face an opponent who basically had a clone finishing his sentences and following up each other's curses one right after the other.

But now…now, the hammering inside Fred's chest had grown more powerful; he could swear he felt his heartbeat reverberating in his ribs. He found himself consciously fighting the urge to turn on his heel and run away.

The man suddenly charged George, tackling him around the waist and sending them falling to the ground together. Fred heard a wand clatter to the ground, and they landed in a tangled pile. The man crouched over him; George struggled wildly beneath, reaching up to claw at the man's face, but he had his hands around George's neck. He pulled George's head up towards him and slammed it back down, the back of his head bouncing off the cobblestone.

Fred heard George let out a strangled cry of pain, and finally managed to uproot himself, sprinting forward, head low, ready to tackle the man wrestling his brother. He had almost reached him when the man pointed his wand directly at his chest. He wordlessly shot a flash of brilliant white light that sent Fred sailing backwards and sliding across the cobblestone when he landed.

He rolled to a stop, raised his head and unsteadily got to his feet, realizing his wand was now discarded somewhere as well. The man had gotten off of George and was stomping towards the girl, who was laying on her back, scrambling backwards looking up at the man.

"COME HERE YOU LITTLE BITCH!" he roared.

George came running up behind the man, wrapping his forearm around his neck in a chokehold. He was easily a foot taller than him, but the man appeared to be quite strong, whipping his body around in an attempt to break free.

"His…wand…Fred…get…his…wand!" George called out, his face scrunched up tightly in discomfort and holding his breath as he attempted to hold the man still.

Fred spotted his wand on the ground and dove for it. "Accio wand!" he yelled, pointing at the man. His wand shot out of his hand and sailed through the air to Fred, who caught it and threw it over his shoulder, where it clattered to the ground.

"Stupefy!"

His spell was aimed for the man still struggling in George's chokehold, but it landed seemingly half on the man's chest and half on George's forearm wrapped around it. A blinding explosion of red light flashed before Fred's eyes and his twin and the man separated, flying in opposite directions and crumbling against the opposing brick walls in a daze.

The girl was still in the ground, but raised on to her hands and knees, facing Fred. She was trying to crawl out of the thin alleyway but not making much progress. Her head hung, a curtain of long, dirt streaked blonde hair obscuring her face, and Fred saw her arms shaking hard, her elbows nearly knocking together. His question that he had wondered to himself_, 'why doesn't she just run away while she has the chance?'_ was answered: she was weak, completely drained. This fight had been going on long before the two of them had landed in Diagon Alley.

George and their opponent were still struggling to pull themselves up from their positions laying at the base of the opposing brick walls.

"Come on, come on!" Fred yelled, jogging forward with his hand outstretched to the girl.

The man at the other end of the alley finally stood, and Fred noticed he was now holding George's wand. He shot the jet of white light again, this time at George, who flew through the air and came crashing into Fred, sending them both rolling across the cobblestone. He felt his head slam hard against the ground and struggled to breathe as the wind was completely knocked out of him.

Still not even at a complete stop and utterly disoriented, Fred managed to yell out another summoning spell as he rolled, and heard George's wand hit the ground somewhere to his left.

The back of his head pounding, Fred attempted to open his eyes and collect himself. His mouth tasted like blood, and he was greeted by the sight of the open starry night sky that suddenly began tilting and shaking, and he squeezed his watering eyes shut. He felt Georges grip on his arms as was dragged to his feet, and they both stood, holding on to one another for support, gasping for breath.

The girl was now standing, but barely, her back to the twins and her hand crumpling upon the brick wall of the alley in a desperate attempt to hold herself up. Everyone was now wand-less, and both Fred and George staggered, struggling to hold themselves standing as well.

The man walked slowly towards the girl and pulled his arm out of his long coat, grasping something small and spherical, and drew his arm back in aim. She spun around, covered the back of her head with her hands and for a brief moment, her eyes locked with Fred's, hers wide and wild with fear. Her skin was pale and smooth like porcelain, but covered in a layer of dry ash and dirt, random scratches with blood smears peppered across random spots.

"RUN!" she screamed, her face in utter panic.

"Watch out!" Fred yelled simultaneously. The man had released the little ball, which was sailing through the air and reminded Fred vaguely of a Snitch.

Fred heard the light _ping_ of the ball hitting the girl's back, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and thick white clouds of mist instantly erupted, blanketing everything from view. There came a crack of Disapparition, then a bloodcurdling scream from the girl that slowly faded to a whimper. Fred heard a thud and something, maybe her hand, lay on top of his foot.

As though right on cue, Fred and George both yelled out in pain as their eyes were hit with an intense burning sensation. The pain came so quickly, so intensely that Fred's breath caught in his throat and he gasped for air. Now his throat was burning, now his lungs, he collapsed to his hands and knees while his eyes and nose streamed tears and snot and soaked his face. The skin of his exposed hands, forearms, face and neck were next, the fiery sizzle reminding him of a wicked sunburn prickling at his flesh.

He frantically patted the ground; choking, his mouth involuntarily opened as his stomach urged to vomit and now his tongue felt the fire too. He was trying to feel for _something, _his wand would be best but if he could find George's and the girl's hands he could maybe drag them all out together? His mind was frantic and every intake of breath resulted in a raw, hacking cough. He felt the blood pumping in his ears.

Fred heard the faint scraping of a wand against the ground as it was picked up.

"Pro…te…go," he heard George's voice choke out, and with a _whoosh_ of fresh air, the poisonous mist was pushed away from them with a shield charm.

While still choking for fresh air, Fred blindly crawled a few feet until his head bumped into the brick wall of the alley. The complete contents of his stomach emptied, splashing all over his hands. The vomiting stopped for a moment as Fred panted to catch his breath, and then started up again. When he was sure it was over Fred opened his eyes to clearly see the cobblestone ground, blinking out tears and raising a shaking hand to his nose and wiping.

"Fred…c'mere…it's bad, it's really bad."

Fred grasped at the grooves in the brick wall and slowly raised himself to his feet. George was kneeling, his back to him, and he could see the girl's head facedown. Her hair was spread out rather gracefully in a fan shape across the ground. Fred suddenly became aware of the smell of something burnt. Something not right, not a log in a fire, no, something nastier.

Now it was George's turn to be sick, he stumbled to his feet and sprinted over to the brick wall, leaning on it with one hand and grasping his stomach with the other as he vomited and coughed. With George not obscuring his view, Fred limped over and saw it.

"_It's bad, it's really bad." _George's words echoed in his head.

Fred had seen a lot of twisted things. Spending a large portion of his life at Hogwarts hanging out with the crowd he had, both brothers had witnessed a lot of experiments and hexes gone horribly wrong. Fred had seen students attempting to Apparate splinch, he had seen broken bones poking their way out of skin during Quidditch games. And the Battle of Hogwarts, they had both witnessed death, so much death…

But this.

Fred clapped his hand to his mouth, choking back another round of gagging.

The girl was indeed facedown. He remembered her, upon seeing the man extract the little ball he threw, spinning around to expose her back to him and not her face. Now he knew why.

Her black pants were still intact. Her neck and back of her head were nearly unscathed. But her entire back, from the spot where her neck met her spine, down to just above the waistband of her pants, was burned beyond recognition. The top layer of her skin was gone and exposed was a bright pink layer of heavily mottled flesh, slightly bloody, raw and swollen. There were tiny wisps of smoke lazily rising from certain spots. For a moment, Fred was reminded of an incident fifteen years ago—when he tricked Ron into eating an Acid Pop and a hole had burned straight through his tongue.

"Bloody hell," Fred whispered.

George came staggering over, still bent at the waist and holding his stomach. "We have to get her to St. Mungo's!"

Fred nodded feverishly and crouched down, gently slipping his hands around her waist and pulling her up to be slung over his shoulder. He stood slowly and held on to the back of her thighs tightly while her head hung halfway down his back. He could hear her moaning.

"We can't Apparate over there. She's nearly unconscious, she'll splinch!" he panted, and hoisted her in a better position on his shoulder.

George, his face still scrunched up in discomfort and his jaw quivering, nodded in agreement.

"Accio wands!" he said, and the other two, Fred's and the other wizard's, sailed into his open hand. George pocketed them and crouched down, holding the tip of his wand against one of the rubbish bin lids from the ground and muttered an incantation. It shook and glowed for a moment, then faded.

"You made it a Portkey," Fred said.

George nodded, his face shiny with sweat. "Okay, on the count of three. You just reach forward and touch it with your foot, got it?"

The girl was starting to feel very heavy on Fred's shoulder, and the pounding of blood in his ears returned.

"Yeah."

"Okay." Fred and George met each other's eyes. In unison, they counted.

"One, two, three!"


	3. Chapter 3--Taken

**Chapter 3—Taken**

Fred was fairly certain he had emptied the complete contents of his stomach back in the alleyway.

The Portkey proved him wrong.

It was all rather disgusting, really—Fred and George arrived at the entranceway of St. Mungo's covered in grime, bits of blood, and stinking of vomit, which was now decorating the shoes of the girl on Fred's shoulder.

"We need some assistance!" George called out as they staggered inside.

Witches and wizards sitting in the waiting area to the right craned their necks over in their direction to see what the commotion was about, and scrunched up their faces with looks of disgust. A Healer came striding out from around the corner hallway, and jumped in surprise at the sight of them, her glasses falling off the edge of her nose and placing her heart on her chest.

"I need a cart, Fred and George Weasley are here!" she called down the hallway.

"Oh lovely, they have official procedure for us," George muttered incredulously, shaking his head.

"Treatment…of…the stars," Fred puffed, re-adjusting the girl on his shoulder again.

The Healer returned with a team of four others with a floating gurney, brusquely ordering them about.

"Set her down here then, yes, that'll do it, nice and gentle…"

Fred bent his knees slowly and set the girl in a sitting position on the gurney. The Healer, wand out, levitated and adjusted her body down gently so she lay on her chest.

"I think she's out cold by now," said George, hands on his hips.

"What happened?"

George hurriedly explained to the Healer about the ball that had exploded upon her back, about the clouds of burning mist that had erupted with it and the way it had peppered at their skin, eyes, and throat. While George was explaining everything, Fred couldn't help but notice something he hadn't before, in the dark alleyway—on the back of the unconscious girl's pale neck was…a tattoo, but the first thing that Fred was reminded of was a brand, like on livestock. It appeared to be inked on, but something about it looked…ominous. Intrusive. Like a proprietary label, rather than skin art. It covered from the edge of her hairline down to the small bony prominence at the bottom of her neck : a bold, black '**M**', with a '**W**' of identical size and font directly below it, as though the characters were mirroring one another.

The Healer and her team now hurried the gurney away from them. She brought up the rear, wand raised high, directing the gurney, and called over her shoulder, "You boys stay right where you are. I'm sending over a team to come take a look at you next!"

The twins stood there awkwardly in silence for a moment, still slightly out of breath, still absolutely filthy, and still attracting a lot of attention from the nosy audience of the waiting room.

Fred was rolling his shoulder where the girl had rested and squeezing his neck with his free hand.

"So I think in order to avoid this type of predicament again, next time we hear a commotion we should just ignore it, eh? Let other blokes be the heroes for once. I for one don't particularly enjoy—"

Fred's attempt at a joke was cut off by George quite suddenly whirling on him, brow furrowed and eyes ablaze with anger.

"What the BLOODY HELL was that?!" he roared, and pushed Fred on the chest with emphasis as he swore.

George had shoved him enough to make him stumble backwards, but not enough to fall, and he clumsily wavered into one of the chairs set out for waiting. It made a loud scraping noise against the tile floor, and the room full of witches and wizards started staring again. He heard some whispers.

Fred could feel his face heat up with embarrassment, and his jaw was rigid.

"Right. Well, if you want to make a scene, let's do it outside then," he said, and headed out the front door. He stood in the street in front of the building entryway, and it took George a moment to follow him out. He came stomping towards Fred, arms stiff at his sides and hands balled into fists.

"Now, what are you throwing a tantrum about?"

"You _bloody well_ heard me Fred! What the hell was that back there?!"

"Which part are you referring to_, George_?" he asked, his voice becoming quickly threaded with venom. He began ticking on his fingers. "The part where you wrestled a madman, the part where this random girl got an acid bomb tossed on her, the part where I vomited not once, not twice—"

"You almost got us killed, Fred!" he exclaimed, accusingly pointing his finger at his twin. "YOU froze up. And then you messed up. Standing there like a dumbfounded fool? Summoning his wand? Missing your spell and hitting me instead? And don't think I didn't see you holding your wand upside down for a minute there. Merlin's beard Fred, you would've been better off just punching him!"

Fred felt his upper lip tensing in a snarl. "Maybe I should have just let you have at it alone then, since you're CLEARLY the master?"

George settled his hands on his hips and chewed on his bottom lip for a minute, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah maybe you should have."

Fred was nearly speechless; he held his arms out to his sides, palms facing the heavens in questioning disbelief.

"What is _your problem_? You sound like Percy when he used to berate us on how we were disappointments to the family and disgraces to Gryffindor; really, you're off your rocker! I didn't have a splendid duel, oh well; I'll try harder next time! We're alive now, aren't we? What the HELL is the big deal?"

"Because you're supposed to be _on my side_!" George snarled, jabbing his finger dangerously close to Fred's face.

"Get your big ugly finger out of my face, George."

"I mean it!" he yelled, stomping childishly. "You're supposed to be on my side! You're supposed to have my back! I've learned by now not to watch out for myself because I know you'll always do it for me, and that's how you play me? But I suppose I can't be surprised. You can't help me when you've given up on helping yourself, eh?"

George's words hung delicately in the air in silence for a few moments, threatening to come crashing down on the ground any second.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fred asked quietly.

"Oh, I think you know what it means," George replied, softer this time, but shaking his head again. "You like to play pretend like you've got it all together; same old Freddie, a joke here and a prank there! But I see you. I see you when you think no one's looking and when you think you're alone. I see you get lost inside your head and I see the hurt and the fear, written all over your face! I hear you having nightmares each night and then I hear you pacing around the flat because you can't get back to sleep. And guess what? I feel it, too! The days you spend all day in bed, in agony and miserable, you think I don't endure that for you? It's here, Fred," he said, clapping a hand to his chest and pounding on his heart. "Right here, like the weight of a thousand anchors. You try to fill your sorrows with random witches you use for a night and then dispose of, and bottles of whiskey—oh no, you're not a drunk yet, but you continue the path that you're on you'll fast be there!"

Fred felt his face heating up again, and his hands were quivering at his sides. "Right, well, sorry I can't be absolutely marvelous like you, George. Ever pause to think that maybe you're a bit of a reminder of everything I've had stolen from me over the past four years? There you go, running down staircases and vaulting over banisters like a Muggle gymnast, no chronic injuries to slow you down! Owning duels that should have been MINE to mop the sodden floor with, plucking away and planning a wedding with MY girlfriend!"

As soon as Fred said it he knew it was a mistake. George's jaw actually dropped, his brow furrowed together hard.

"Your _girlfriend_? You're joking right?"

"You know what I meant," Fred muttered, digging his heel into the ground sheepishly.

"I'm sure I do not!" George replied hotly. "Your girlfriend you call her, you mean Angelina, the girl who came to visit you every sodden day you lay here—" he jabbed his finger up, pointing towards the tall hospital building "—trying to show you that she cared, only to have you say, what was it again? Oh yeah, _'There's no reason for you to be here. It's not like we were ever REALLY TOGETHER. You continue on with your life, as I will mine' ? _AmI remembering that correctly?"

The worst part about it was that George WAS remembering it correctly. Every word of it. He and Angelina had never exactly been serious, but blimey, there had been some feelings there, and maybe they could have been serious one day. But laying there in that hospital bed for months on end had tested his famous abilities for making the best out of miserable situations, and he had failed. His body hurt, his pride hurt, and he was in no shape to be any more vulnerable than he was and let someone in.

From the moment he had awoken from his comatose state here four years ago, he had begun building it. The wall. Made of enormous and dense bricks, layered thickly with mortar, he built it, a solid fortress around his heart. He liked to imagine that there was one for every bit of rubble that had piled on top of him during the Battle. Because that's when it all started, really. Everything had happened so fast, yet simultaneously felt like molasses, chugging along, enough time to make him think: _'I am about to die.' _It was a horrendous, split second realization that had pierced him right in the heart, and in the two seconds it had taken for the wall to collapse, he had managed to think about it all:

Mother. Father. Bill. Charlie. Percy. Ron. Ginny. George, for the love of God, George. His friends. The defensive front of brave witches and wizards he was fighting alongside. Angelina.

All of the people he had cared about, loved, all the people he had let in. They all managed to flash across his mind as the lurch and groan of the collapsing wall met his ears, and he realized it: his death, which he thought imminent at the time, was going to hurt people. A lot of people. And if there was one thing Fred didn't like doing, it was hurting people.

Funny to think about it that way, considering all of the pranks and schemes he and his brother had performed over the years. All of the people they had angered and even humiliated. But that, that was harmless fun. Well, not always harmless, but never malicious. Never dark. Deep down, he considered himself, all in all, one of the good guys. That was why he got so much enjoyment out of he and his twin's endless sense of humor—it had never just been about relishing in the glory of an impressive prank, or gleefully watching one of their victims fall prey to a scheme. It was about the feeling he got when he and George would walk confidently down the halls of Hogwarts, every students' eyes lighting up when they saw them coming. People felt safe with them…if anything went awry, there the Weasley twins were, ready to lie their way out of anything or deflect the tension with brilliant humor. Fred disguised it with a cocky attitude, but there was no denying it to himself: it felt good to make people happy.

And that wall. At the time, he realized that wall coming down on him was about to make a lot of people very unhappy. He was about to leave a family and legion of friends in agony over his departure. And somewhere, in those minute seconds, between the wall crumbling and his unconscious state upon its collapse, his mind was made up, all on its own: feelings were rotten, dangerous things, and he needed to start avoiding them at all costs.

So that's who he had been over the past four years. It wasn't as though he was unable to feel happiness, or get enjoyment out of anything, or laugh again. He did all of those things. But he kept the agonizing emptiness, the determination to stay unattached, locked away deep inside his chest, behind that brick wall. He thought he hid it well, but he should have known better: his twin noticed everything. And he had been selfish to fool himself into thinking he could carry the weight of that day alone.

'_Like the weight of a thousand anchors.'_

George now stood there, still staring at Fred, awaiting an answer. "Well?"

Fred hung his head, staring at the ground. "You're right," he said softly.

George pursed his lips, and hopelessly let his hands rise and fall and clap on the sides of his legs. "Yeah, well, I certainly don't feel right," he said, sarcastically laughed, and turned around. He made long and fast strides, through the stone archway of St. Mungo's garden, and disappeared from sight behind the hedges.

As soon as he left, the emptiness inside Fred's chest pulsed, and he wished he had the courage to call after him and tell him how badly he wanted him to come back.


	4. Chapter 4--Connection

**Chapter 4—Connection**

George had seen Fred fall in the doorway.

He had been standing at the top of the stairs, hands white-knuckled on the railing as he quietly watched his brother stretch, and then fall.

His first instinct had been to call down to ask if he was alright, and rush down the stairs to help him up. But he knew he had to stay. He knew he had to let Fred do this one thing on his own, just like every other night. So he found himself physically holding on to the railing in order to stop himself from coming to the rescue of his brother.

It seemed silly. He and Fred had spent quite a bit of time growing up making each other slip, slide, trip, and fall as much as possible. Each time it had seemed to get funnier, their sides aching from laughing so much.

But after the Battle, everything had changed. Fred's body didn't always work quite the way it was supposed to. The Healers had said it themselves—he would never be the same.

George knew Fred well enough to know that wasn't going to sit right with him. Fred was prideful, and Fred was stubborn. So he knew the best he could do was let Fred do what he pleased, and quietly stay in the background to watch over his brother and make sure he wasn't hurting himself too much.

George had become skilled at tucking himself away and making himself invisible while he observed Fred. Fred would wait until he thought George had left for the toilet, or was on the other side of the store, or asleep in bed. And then he would do something. A small test, a little prod for himself, for self reassurance that he could still function. More than once, George had walked three-quarters of the way to the restroom, only to stop, tiptoe back, and duck behind something. Or crouched behind a bookshelf in the shop, watching his brother through the gaps in the tomes. Or stood bathed in the shadows of night time in the hallway of his and Fred's flat, watching his twin pacing around and then suddenly lifting something heavy, or kicking up into a handstand against the wall.

The first time he had seen it, it was an accident, and he hadn't a clue what he was watching. It had been about two weeks since Fred was released from St. Mungo's, a very long six months after his admittance, and they were just getting back into the swing of things with the shop. It was late at night, after closing, and George had gone down into the cellar to find another crate of…something, he didn't remember. But he couldn't find what he was looking for, and headed back up to ground level when he saw it:

Fred was crouching on the side of the tall desk where the register sat upon. He was resting his hands on his knees, his head was bowed, and he was panting just slightly. George had frozen in his tracks. He was about to ask if Fred was alright when, all of a sudden, Fred had slowly reached forward, palms facing up. He slipped his fingertips under the bottom of the desk. Then, he bit his bottom lip, scrunched up his entire face in concentration, and lifted the side of the desk off the ground—just a little, so the small legs that propped it up rose about two inches from the floor. But that had been enough to satisfy Fred. He carefully lowered it back down, and when he was sure it was steady on the ground once more, slowly risen to his feet and grinned, nodding to himself once in congratulations.

George had exited the trap door, climbing to the ground floor of the shop, and pretended he hadn't seen anything.

And so this dance had continued for the past three and a half years; George secretly watching Fred to make sure he didn't accidentally kill himself and Fred doing everything in his power to still feel human and not be helpless.

Now, George sat on the cold stone bench of St. Mungo's garden, lower back throbbing in pain, forearms resting against his knees and head hanging. Guilt swarmed around him like angry wasps, stinging incessantly and reminding him of how much of an asshole he had just been. He wondered if the venom he had spewed at his twin had undone every desk-lift and every hand stand Fred had worked towards; he wondered if he had tore down Fred's confidence and made him feel like a useless imbecile again.

Unable to sit alone with himself and his thoughts any longer, he sprang to his feet, and immediately regretted doing so. The world in front of him tilted a bit, and his head began to pound. Replays of every bit of the beating he had just received came back to him, and he winced.

George needed Fred, and was also fairly certain he needed medical attention. Grimacing, he began limping slightly down the pathway to the side entrance. No sooner had he made it inside than the Healer he and Fred had initially met upon their arrival swooped down on him, reprimanding him the way a fussy mother would for leaving the waiting area. This time, she seemed intent on getting him to a room for examination; she practically frog-marched him down the hall and into a suite with two beds, side by side. Fred was already sitting on the edge of one of them, still filthy and bloody and staring down at his hands.

"Now. You two _stay put_. Someone will be in here to tend to you shortly. And I know all about you lot so please…_please_, try not to blow anything up."

George couldn't help it; he grinned, and was relieved to see Fred's mouth twitching into a smile as well.

"Hey."

"Hey."

He made his way over to the available bed and gingerly lowered himself down upon it, pulling off his shoes and moaning in pain while doing so. He slowly slid himself backwards on the bed until he collapsed his head down on the pillow, laying on top of the tight sheets.

"Fred?"

"Yeah George?"

"I think…I think I may have broken my ass."

Fred burst into laughter, eyes squeezed shut and head tilted back, one hand grasping his knee and the other clutching his chest.

"Oh…oh god George…please don't make me laugh…I think I have some broken ribs," he gasped.

They exchanged looks, eyebrows raised and silent for just a moment, and then exploded into laughter again. The swarm of guilt that had been following George around dissipated a bit, and they stayed in silence for a moment, still relishing with grins and catching their breath.

"I had them send one of those emergency Apparating Owls to the Burrow; Mum, Dad, Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione are all there," said Fred.

"Sending out early invitations for our funeral? Thoughtful, but I think you're a bit off the mark mate, we're unfortunately going to scrape by this time—"

"Shut up. It's not for us. It's for _her_," Fred said, jabbing his head to the side, indicating the room next door. He shrugged. "I kind of thought this was an Order thing."

"Right. That didn't even occur to me, really," said George, slightly embarrassed. Of course this was something for the Order; it had been so long since he and Fred had run into trouble with the Dark Arts that he had forgotten the correct way to go about things.

"Well that's because I'm the smarter one," said Fred with a sigh.

"And I'm still better looking."

Fred chuckled. "Not with that great big Easter-egg lump on the back of your head." He clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Cobblestone, meet head."

George grimaced, gingerly touching the back of his head with his fingertips.

"I also sent an Owl to Angelina for you."

George rolled his eyes. "Y'know, if I could, I would get up and come smack you right upside the head right now. What did you do that for? She's going to have a fit that I'm here, and you know she keeps her distance from Order stuff anyway—"

"I didn't do it for the Order. I did it for you," said Fred simply. "She is your fiancé, after all…and what good are they if they're not to come visit you on your sick bed with a broken ass?"

George couldn't help it; he laughed, but turned his head to finally look at his twin. Fred had a resolute look on his face, his right eyebrow slightly raised and a very small smile upon his lips.

"I didn't mean what I said before," he said softly, suddenly serious. "I don't actually think you stole her from me, I pushed her away all on my own, I know that. And I don't actually care that you're marrying her. You're better for her than I ever would have been. You're kinder and gentler, everyone knows that."

"You really mean that?" George asked.

"What, the part about you being a sugar plum fairy? Yes, you're very gentle and delicate and sparkly."

"Fred."

Fred sighed exaggeratedly. "Yes, I really mean it. I'm happy for the both of you. I'm just a bitter asshole who feels sorry for himself. I'm working on it, okay?"

George gave a short laugh, and smiled slightly at Fred. "Okay."

There was a comfortable silence for a few minutes, and then Fred rose to his feet, and headed over to the small mirror hung above the sink in the washroom. George raised his head enough to see his brother squinting into his reflection, running his fingers through his bright red hair that had stayed in the same short but tousled style they had sported since their final 7th and unfinished year at Hogwarts.

"What…what're you doing?" asked George.

Fred seemingly gave up on his reflection, shrugging a bit, washed his hands in the sink and walked to the edge of George's bed. "I'm about to go check on our damsel in distress," he replied, wiggling his eyebrows, a smirk hitching up one side of his mouth.

"And you needed to do your hair for that? Concerned about looking fit, are you?"

The smirk got a bit wider. "Always, Georgie."

Fred poked his head out of the doorway, making sure the coast was clear of that watchful hawk of a Healer that seemingly had a special sense for knowing when he or his brother were moving about. It was quiet and the hall appeared still; the time had gotten away from him and Fred had forgotten it was now 3 in the morning. Still, he took special care to move quietly and tip-toe exaggeratedly down the corridor.

He made a right out of his and George's room, heading in the direction he last saw the girl's gurney being taken, and scanned each room as he passed them one by one. After about a dozen, some empty and some occupied, he finally caught a flash of light golden hair and saw her; laying on her chest, head facing away from the door, her sheet of blonde hair hanging over the edge of the bed. What looked like a giant soaking wet napkin was conformed against her naked back, and a little enchanted whirring object that kind of reminded Fred of a teapot hovered above it, traveling up and down the napkin and spitting out little puffs of mist.

He hesitated before slowly heading inside. He wrestled with himself for a moment on how to do this; he didn't want to make a grand show of announcing himself but he certainly didn't want to scare the girl to death either.

He settled for purposefully walking loudly over to her bedside next to the back of her head, and clearing his throat a little. Butterflies jolted his stomach; he wasn't sure why he felt so nervous but he was certain it at least had something to do with the familiar sensation of the fear of getting in trouble.

"Erm, hello there…are you awake?"

She remained still and silent for a moment. Fred was just starting to feel like a fool when she wordlessly raised her right hand, and ushered him over to the other side of the bed. He found himself running his fingers through his hair again as he walked over, cautiously tip-toeing again.

He was pleasantly surprised to see her quite awake, and it took a second for him to match this girl's face to the terrified one he had seen screaming in Diagon Alley. He had remembered her face caked in grime and dried blood, eyes wild with dread and fear, and then, her clothing burned off and her back raw, bloody and smoking. She now had a rather peaceful but slightly sleepy look upon her face, which had been wiped off to reveal the fair skin he thought he had seen. It was contrasted with naturally dark red lips and grey-ish green eyes framed by thick brown eyelashes. Fred found her to be quite beautiful actually, and ashamedly caught himself stealing a glance of the shape of her naked back beneath the soaking wet napkin. She stayed completely silent; just let her eyes slowly travel from Fred's feet up to his face, although it didn't seem sensual. It felt as though she was studying him, taking in his appearance and trying to decide for herself whether or not she could trust him.

"Do you remember me? From the alley? My name's Fred," he said softly, looking down to her with his head cocked.

She suddenly narrowed her eyes, appearing to think hard, and wet her lips to speak.

"There…there were two of you," she finally said hoarsely.

Fred could feel his eyebrows shoot straight up. He had heard her speak, well, scream, very briefly in the alley when she urged him to run, but the panic of the situation hadn't fully allowed him to register her voice. But now, in the quiet of the hospital room, he realized it.

"You're American?" he asked.

She continued staring for a moment, and then just repeated herself. "There were two of you."

Fred smiled and chuckled softly. "That was my twin brother, George."

She was silent again. Fred was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable (a rare feeling for him) and considering leaving when she raised her right hand again.

"C'mere for a second," she asked.

Fred obeyed, and stepped forward, until his knee was brushing the edge of her bed and he was looking down on her. She continued holding up her hand expectedly.

"Take it."

Fred wasn't sure what was going on, but found himself extending his right hand down to hers, and fitting it in her palm softly. She let her fingers fall down upon his, slowly, one by one, until she held his hand. His heart started hammering in his chest.

Her hand squeezed his, and there was a slight pin prick between their palms, as though a shock had passed between them. He jumped in surprise but didn't let go; he was admittedly quite enjoying having his hand held. He had just started absentmindedly passing his thumb over her hand in a caress when she suddenly opened her fingers and unceremoniously let his hand drop from hers. Fred paused, and then took a step back to look at her. She was staring rather blankly past him, out the window behind him.

He slowly lowered himself to a crouch so he was face level with her. She lazily drifted her gaze to his face, and locked those grey-green eyes of hers on to his brown ones. The butterflies in his stomach jumped again.

"You and your brother are brave," she said hoarsely, her voice cracking a bit. A tear quivered on the inner edge of her eye and leaked out, traveling down to the tip of her nose and dropping on to the mattress.

"Don't cry—"

"But you shouldn't have done what you did," she continued, almost at a whisper now. "He's never going to forget. He's never going to forgive you."

"The wizard from the alley?"

She got quiet again. Her eyes lingered on to his for another moment, and then drifted back over to gazing out the window.

"You should have just let me die in that alley."

Fred's lips parted in surprise and he could feel his eyebrows raising again. Before he could think of anything to say in return, a figure strode into the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" barked a familiar voice.

Fred rolled his eyes and got to his feet, meeting the aggressively inquisitive stare of the Healer with the glasses perched upon her nose.

"Your brother said I would find you in here. Leave her alone, she needs her rest. Come on then, let's join your brother, he's nursing a broken tailbone." She threw her head back and cackle-laughed.

Fred looked down to the girl's face one more time before he left to follow the Healer out. Her eyes were now closed and drooping in a deep sleep, her lips in a slight frown, and another singular tear was rolling down her nose.


	5. Chapter 5--Magnet

**Authors notes: **I just wanted to say a huge THANK YOU to my readers, followers, and reviewers. You all motivate me so much and I am truthfully having a ton of fun writing this story that's been living in my brain for quite a few years.

I present to you Chapter 5! Please review if you enjoy :)

**Chapter 5—Magnet**

_Tap tap tap._

The gentle noises against the glass didn't bother any of the residents of the Burrow at first.

The house was old, had housed many people, and stood slightly crooked. Little noises weren't anything new. A field mouse scurrying for crumbs, the swaying of the shutters blowing in the wind outside, the dishes in the sink becoming tired of waiting and spontaneously starting to wash themselves.

Yes, disturbances in the night were quite normal occurrences.

_Tap tap tap._

Harry Potter had no interest in investigating this noise. He wished to stay here, comfortable, warm. Back to sleep it was.

HERE.

His whole body flinched as he fully awoke with a start, and his stomach dropped as though he had just taken a dive on his broom.

His emerald green eyes snapped open, and he was greeted with the slightly blurry sight of the wooden ceiling of the Burrow's sitting room. Everything glowed orange as the last of the fireplaces' embers held on to life.

Harry sat straight up, suddenly in a panic. He patted his hands all around him like a blind man, searching for his glasses

"Ginny!" he hissed. "Ginny! _Ginny!"_

Ginny's eyelids fluttered, preparing to open, and she grimaced in her sleepy fog.

"Go back to sleep," she murmured.

Harry found his glasses, fumbling to put them on, and reached over to shake Ginny's bare shoulder.

"Ginny. You have to get up, now! We fell asleep."

Ginny's eyes snapped open in as much alarm as Harry had just experienced moments before. Panic was suddenly scrawled across her face.

"_Shit!" _she hissed._ "Shit, shit, shit!"_

She sat straight up and the quilt that had been enveloping her fell. Harry vaguely remarked in his head how pretty Ginny's breasts looked in the flickering fireplaces' light, and then shook his head, willing himself to concentrate.

Clothes. He needed clothes. Where the bloody hell were they? Why did it have to be so dark?

Suddenly, loud and frantic voices from upstairs met Harry and Ginny's ears, and they immediately met each others' gaze, exchanging looks of horror.

Surely Molly and Arthur had discovered Ginny's bed empty and assumed the worst. Surely they were going to charge down the stairs any second now, wands drawn, on a mission to find their beloved daughter.

The good news was: she would be right here.

The bad news was: she was still stark naked, flinging aside various quilts trying to find her clothes. And Harry was there too. Also naked.

'_Oh Molly and Arthur, you should have seen him!'_ Harry imagined himself saying to them. _'It was a wizard. A very dark wizard. He tried to take Ginny away! And I saved her! But blast, he took away our clothes as he left!'_

Harry had envisioned this wild exchange so vividly, he unfortunately snorted out loud to himself. Ginny's head popped through the neck hole of her pink sweater, and she shot Harry a look of disgust.

"There is nothing funny about this!" she whispered frantically. "Get dressed!"

Harry was still on the lookout for his missing articles of clothing and was considering wrapping himself in a quilt like a toga and just making a run for it, up the stairs and to his bedroom, when Ginny tossed him his clothes. He clumsily caught them, and nearly fell over trying to force his leg through his pants.

More voices from upstairs, panicked sounding. A couple muffled bangs that sounded like people dropping things. The ceiling shaking slightly as members of the household in the floor above them quickly moved about.

Harry had just finished dressing when Ginny tossed something in his face again, nearly knocking his glasses off. It fell to the ground and Harry picked it up.

_A book?_ He mouthed to Ginny, wondering what she wanted him to do with it.

She held a finger to her lips, signaling him to stay quiet, and she laid down on the couch, sprawling the book across her chest, lolling her head to the side.

_We fell asleep while reading. We fell asleep while reading. We fell asleep while reading_, he practiced in his head over and over again.

He dropped into the squishy paisley print armchair and let the book fall on his lap just as the first footsteps on the stairs began. Ginny quickly shut her eyes, feigning sleep, and Harry did the same.

"Ginny, Harry, wake up!" Arthur Weasley's voice announced as he descended the last of the stairs and rounded the corner into the sitting room.

"Something serious has happened!" his wife Molly followed, her voice threaded with hysteria.

"Hmm?" Ginny softly moaned, and pretended to yawn, sitting up slowly and letting the book tumble to the floor. "What…what's going on?"

Harry woke up, probably half as convincingly, and was simultaneously both alarmed and impressed by Ginny's acting skills.

"Molly, settle down, we don't know it's anything serious. Where's Ron?" Arthur strode quickly around the house as he spoke, squinting through the darkness in obvious search of something.

Molly rushed over to the stairs. "Ronald!" she called for her youngest son.

"What's going on Dad?" Ginny asked, standing up and smoothing her clothes out.

"Your brothers are at the hospital!" Molly wailed, her face red and streaming with tears.

Arthur was murmuring to himself, opening and closing all of the kitchen cabinets, and momentarily ignoring his wife.

"Erm…which ones?" Ginny asked softly, standing beside her mother and patting her shoulder.

Molly continued to sob, nearly doubled over. Her thick red hair, delicately threaded with grey strands, was falling out of its' curlers and she wore the outfit she had been wearing all day, but inside out, her slippers adorning her feet.

Arthur sighed and pulled Molly into an embrace against his chest. "Fred and George, who else?" he said exasperatedly. "We just received an emergency St. Mungo's owl from Fred letting us know they were there and asking us to meet them. "

Harry felt his face turn red, realizing what the tapping on the glass he had heard had been.

"Mum…if Fred sent the note…he can't be awful shape. You can't exactly send coherent owls on your deathbed, am I right?" Ginny said softly, meeting eyes with Harry and shrugging.

There was a gentle creak of stairs, and a very pregnant belly emerged from around the corner first. Attached to the belly was a well put-together Hermione, wearing a clean outfit, her hair in a neat ponytail.

"What's happened?" she asked, her face full of concern as she wrapped her arm around Molly, who was honking her nose into a handkerchief.

"Fred and George are at St. Mungo's, they sent a note," Harry said as he stood awkwardly beside the fireplace.

"Hermione, you go back to bed love…this stress, up late at night, it's not good for the baby," Molly said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

"That's sweet Mum but I'm pregnant, not disabled," Hermione said with a gentle smile, her eyes meeting with Harry's and her eyebrows slightly raising. "I'll manage."

Arthur glided past them, cursing under his breath, heading to the other side of the house.

"Where is that husband of yours? How you managed to get yourself up and presentable while my son hasn't even made it down the stairs yet is beyond me—RON! There you are."

Ron rounded the corner, his face screwed up tightly. He was squinting as though he hadn't seen light in months and a line of crusty dried saliva trailed from the edge of his mouth. He wore his Chudley Cannon pajama bottoms that he had owned since his fourth year at Hogwarts, quite obviously a few inches too short and too tight around the thighs.

"Wuss goin' on?" he said thickly.

Hermione cupped her one arm around her 8 month expectant belly and rolled her eyes. Ron seemingly just noticed her then, looking her up and down and jumping slightly at her appearance.

"Blimey Hermione, how'd you manage to get ready so quickly?"

"I have an emergency bag packed next to our bed at all times. For when the baby comes."

"With a new outfit? Aren't you going to be stripping all of that off when it comes time to push it out anyway?" he smiled goofily and reached forward to pat her stomach. She swatted his hand away.

"Stop calling our baby an 'it', Ron."

"Well we don't know whether it's a boy or girl, so yeah, right now it's an 'it'."

"_Honestly, Ron…"_

"I FOUND IT!" Arthur Weasley's voice thundered through the home.

"Found what?" Ginny called.

Arthur came striding into the sitting room, eyes lit up with victory, holding a small, dusty glass bottle.

"Our Floo powder, of course! How else did you want us to get to St. Mungo's, a lively sprint?" Arthur nervously chuckled at his own humor. "Good to see you, son," he murmured, clapping Ron on the shoulder, to which he instantly buckled.

Molly practically jumped forward, holding her hands out cupped together. "Come on Arthur, let's go then!"

Arthur poured some of the sand-like substance into her palms with one hand, and with the other, waved his wand and brought the fire roaring back to life. Molly tossed the powder in, and confidently stepped into the flames.

"St. Mungo's Hospital!" she practically sang, and with a whirl, disappeared.

"Follow us, everyone," Arthur said. He met eyes with Harry, nodding once, and followed his wife into the flames.

"I can't show up to the hospital like this!" Ron exclaimed, voice teeming with dread and gesturing at his pajama pants. "Fred and George will never let me live it down!"

"Maybe you should have packed an emergency bag. For emergencies. Like your wife," Ginny said with a smirk. She stepped towards the fire, winking at Harry, and disappeared after her father.

Harry was about to follow after her when he heard Ron making an exaggerated gagging sound.

"Harry! Harry! How could you? How could you let me see something like this?"

Harry turned to see Ron lifting his foot in the air as though he had stepped in something nasty. He craned his neck to look and saw, on the ground where Ron's rather big foot had previously been resting, Ginny's lacy yellow underpants, sprawled across the carpet.

"I…I haven't a clue what you're referring to," Harry choked out, fighting his hardest to avoid a smile and losing, a grin spreading widely across his face.

Ron stepped forward, feigning anger but a smile quickly breaking through, hands raised as though he was headed towards Harry to wring his neck.

"Stop jumping to conclusions Ron…I'm innocent, really!"

Harry ducked at his friend's fake attempt to swing a punch at him, and backed up into the flames, laughing out the name of the hospital and holding on to his glasses tightly for the ride.

000000

"They're here."

Fred jumped at his twin's sudden announcement breaking through the silence. He had been standing at the window with his arms folded, gazing through the glass into the quiet and dark night and absentmindedly chewing on his thumb nail.

"Whose here?" he asked, turning.

"The bloody Muggle Royal Family," George quipped, his back to Fred as he stood in the doorway looking out into the hall. "Everyone from home, Fred."

"You see them?" asked Fred, stepping up behind George in the doorway and looking around.

"No, but I hear Mum's hysteria."

George looked over his shoulder back at his twin with a slight grimace, as though he had a nasty smell directly beneath his nose. They sighed simultaneously, and leaned outward at the waist, their shoulders and heads poking out of their doorway.

"In here," they said together.

The small group rounded the corner and came into view. Heading the front was their mother, rushing forward wearing her clothing inside out and curlers dangling from her hair.

"Oh, boys!" she cried out, throwing herself into Fred and George's arms.

They each wrapped an arm around her awkwardly, her back against George and her face buried on Fred's chest, sobbing.

"See Molly? There. They're quite alright. I told you, nothing to panic about!" said their father triumphantly, although Fred and George both mentally noted on his slipper adorned feet matching his wife's. "Good to see you, boys." He stepped forward with his arms open for a hug, but stepped back awkwardly and let his arms fall as his wife stayed glued to them.

The twins were suddenly grateful for the Healer that had stopped in to treat them before their family arrived. After they washed their faces, she had sealed shut the gash on the side of George's head, where some of his scar tissue from his missing ear had opened and brought down the swelling from the enormous lump on the back of his head, the most obvious injuries. They were also given a pouch of small, dried purple flowers that resembled Lilacs.

"When you're in pain—and trust me, with broken ribs," she had nodded at Fred, "and a broken tailbone," she had nodded at George, "you will be—pop one of these into your mouth and just suck."

"What are they?" Fred has asked, opening the pouch and studying its' contents.

The Healer had raised her eyebrows slightly. "Missed a couple classes in fourth year Herbology, eh? They're Dinwiddle Blossoms. Reduces pain, helps one achieve a restful sleep, and even helps take away fear and anxiety. Only to be taken in small doses though."

"I don't think we ever even ATTENDED fourth year Herbology," muttered Fred, sticking his nose in the pouch and inhaling.

"I'm sure they're lovely and everything, but why can't you just…heal the injuries for us?" asked George delicately.

Her eyebrows soared higher and she looked at them over the top of her glasses. "Because if every time you got a bump or bruise and I waved my wand to fix it, your body would forget how to heal itself. Magic isn't an excuse to not be human and learn to endure pain a little bit. Don't you remember that from your physical therapy, Mr. Weasley?" she asked, staring pointedly at Fred.

Now, Fred finally managed to unlatch himself from his mother's embrace, craning his neck down to kiss her on top of her head and steering her into the room. She sat on the edge of what had been Fred's bed, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

George remained in the doorway, greeting the rest of the group and ushering them inside. He stopped to hug Ginny as she passed, shook Harry's hand, and then paused at the sight of Hermione.

"Hermione! You're pregnant?" he exclaimed, feigning shock and holding his heart.

"This is almost as funny as when you did this same thing last week when I saw you and Fred at your birthday party," she said, one eyebrow raised but smiling. She stood on her tip toes to exchange a quick kiss on the cheek with George and headed into the room.

Bringing up the rear was Ron. He had a tight, almost defensive look on his face, as though he was bracing himself for something. As Hermione walked away from in front of him and his full appearance was revealed, Fred and George clearly saw why. Fred came up to stand beside George, the both of them wearing the same gleeful, smarmy smirks.

"Don't. Say. Anything," Ron breathed.

The twins simultaneously exploded into laughter, Fred clutching his sides and George doubled over, hands on his knees. A deep frown burrowed into Ron's face and he pushed past his brothers and sat on the edge of the other bed beside Hermione.

"Oh Ron, I don't know what you possibly could be referring to," said George, standing up straight and wiping away tears of mirth.

"These unfounded assumptions that we would just tease you like that," Fred followed, "our own brother!"

"Yes Ron, don't worry. We think you look just smashing in Ginny's pajama pants," said George, walking by Ron and clapping him on the shoulder as he passed. He settled himself to sit on the window seat beside Harry, who was doing all he could to contain his laughter.

"Those aren't my pants!" said Ginny, a grin on her face. "I would never support losers like the Cannons."

"Hey!" exclaimed Ron, accusingly pointing his finger at Fred, who still stood near the doorway. "Can we stop harassing ME for just one second, and take a moment to look at these two? I mean really…are you covered in vomit, Fred?"

"Everyone just stop," said Arthur, raising his hand. "Enough. But Ron leads us to a good point. What happened to you two? Fred? Are you alright?"

"_We're_ fine," Fred muttered darkly, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning his side on the wall. "I have a couple of broken ribs and I can feel a bit of a black eye coming on but I don't think I'll be here for half a year this time."

No one found this very funny; the room sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments until George spoke up. He had seen the shift in his twin when their father had fussed over him and he knew how much Fred hated being babied.

"We didn't ask you to come for us, we're clearly fine," he started. "We asked you to come as more of an…unofficial Order meeting, if you will."

"A meeting for the Order? But not everyone's here, dear," said Molly.

George nodded. "We know. It'll be best to hold an ACTUAL meeting as soon as possible but for now we thought we might give you a warning, considering the subject of our concern is here as we speak."

He had perked up the interest and attention of everyone in the room now; Fred met George's eyes for a brief moment and nodded, sending him a tiny, silent thank-you.

George explained the sudden racket that they had heard as they were finishing their work in the shop, the way they had stumbled upon the fight, the dark wizard, the girl and her condition.

"That poor girl," Hermione said when George had ended the tale. "What's her name? Where did she come from?"

George looked at Fred, gesturing towards him and shrugging. "Ask him. He's the one who went to go see her down the hall." Everyone turned to look at Fred, who shifted his feet uncomfortably.

"Truthfully I don't know much," he said slowly. "She doesn't seem willing to share a lot. I doubt she even knows where she is, really. She seemed a bit…." He paused, searching for the right word. "Out of it," he finished.

"Well do you know anything at all?" Molly asked.

Fred shook his head slightly and raised his shoulders a little. "I could tell she was American, from her voice."

Looks of curiosity and confusion swept the room. Ron noticed, looking around him. "What?" he said. "What's the big deal about her being American?"

"When was the last time you encountered an American witch OR wizard?" his father asked pointedly.

Ron appeared to think for a moment. "Never, I guess. Do they not exist or something?"

His father laughed a little. "Oh, they exist, Ron. They just like to pretend they don't."

Ron stared at him. "Come again?"

Hermione placed a hand on his leg. "Most nations have their institutions and governments for magical folk. Hogwarts, obviously. Beauxbatons, exclusively for the French. Durmstrang, for some of the Eastern Europeans. Even Kujifunza Roho of Africa, which is quite famous. And there are more, all around the world. Except for the United States."

"Kuji what?"

Hermione sighed. "It means 'Spirit Learning' in Swahili. It's a massive school, nearly ten times the size of Hogwarts. Anyway—what your father was trying to tell you was that Americans are weirdly…secretive, about their magical affairs."

"One of their representatives pops into the Ministry about once a year for some hush-hush meetings, usually leaves looking a little angry and out of sorts, and that seems to be the extent of our relations with them."

Ron looked puzzled and slightly annoyed. "Then where do all the American kids go to school to learn stuff? And why do I seem to be the only one who doesn't know about this?"

"They don't," said Fred. "As far as we know, there is no magical institution for learning over there. Most of them come upon their powers accidentally. They have no idea what's happening to them, and either end up institutionalized, or as addicts, or suicidal, convinced they're going mad. The ones that manage to not have nervous breakdowns either suppress their powers forever and choose to live as Muggles, or practice in secret."

"And to answer your other question, it's because you never crack open a book, or newspaper, or look at the world around you beyond what's sitting on your dinner plate—"continued Ginny.

"Okay, okay. I get it," Ron muttered.

The room was quiet for a minute until Fred held out his arms. "You all want me to go try and talk to her again, don't you?"

No one seemed willing to answer for a moment. "Well dear, whoever this girl is, it sounds like she's in trouble and needs protection, so the Order needs to accommodate her. We'll take her home with us, for the time being. I think we all would just feel a bit better about it if we at least knew who she was," said Molly.

Fred looked over to George, who gave him a quick nod of encouragement.

"Alright, "said Fred. "I'll go. I just don't know how much more I can get out of her."

Fred headed back down the hall towards her room, the uneasy butterflies in his stomach making their return. "Get a grip," he whispered to himself. But he was forced to stop short in front of her door. It was now closed, and upon trying the handle, he discovered it was locked.

"Oh no, no, no," said a man sitting behind a desk at the end of the hall, staring in Fred's direction. He sprang to his feet and hurriedly came over, dramatically placing himself between Fred and the door. Upon realizing their difference in height as his nose barely reached Fred's collarbone, he gulped a little, adjusting his glasses, but stubbornly crossed his arms. "You're not going in there. NO VISITORS. She was very explicit in her request."

"What?" said Fred. "No, I was just in there a little bit ago, she—"he abruptly stopped, about to explain about her taking his hand and holding it for a little while. Yet a sudden urge to keep that private came over him. "She would let me in. She knows me."

The man raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Are you family?"

Fred felt his irritation level spike, and took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep his temper under control. "No, but—"

"Then you heard me. No visitors."

They stood there at an impasse, Fred looking down on the man threateningly, him looking up daring Fred to question him again.

"Right," Fred muttered, and turned, heading back to his room.

"She apparently wants no visitors, there's nothing I can do—"he started. He stopped short once again as he entered the doorway, momentarily taken aback by the change in scene from which he left. Angelina was now present, sitting on George's knee smiling and stroking his hair. George looked up at her face lovingly, whispering something.

"Oh. Hi Angelina. G-glad you could make it," he said a little breathlessly. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets.

She nodded at him, still smiling. "Hi Fred."

Sensing the oncoming of an awkward silence, Ginny thankfully rescued the moment. "You said she wouldn't let you in?"

Fred headed over to one of the chairs in the corner and collapsed, forgetting his broken ribs and wincing in pain. George tossed him the pouch of Dinwoodle Blossoms, which he caught and opened. He picked one of the tiny flowers, stared at it for a moment, shrugged and popped it in his mouth. Almost instantly, a cool, tingling sensation spread across his tongue, and seemed to spread throughout his body, reaching down all of his limbs and reaching the tips of his fingers and toes. The throbbing pain in his side melted away to barely a whisper. He sucked in a deep breath. That was better.

"Yeah…no visitors," he murmured.

The Dinwiddle flower had dulled his pain and relaxed his muscles, but something still wasn't quite right. A pit of anxiety sat heavy in his stomach seemingly directly beside the still-present butterflies, his heartbeat continued to be elevated and he felt…jumpy. Like he couldn't sit still. Fred suddenly sprang to his feet and started pacing.

"Fred…what's wrong mate? You look like you're about to crawl out of your skin," said Harry.

Fred ceased his pacing near the doorway, and leaned on it with his shoulder, shoving his hands in his pockets again. Everyone stared at him.

"I just feel like…it's like…I can't explain it," he said desperately. He glanced over at his twin pleadingly, but George understandably didn't know what to do or say to help him.

"If your intuition is feeling something Fred, I think it's perfectly valid, "said Hermione softly.

He took another deep breath, and everyones eyes continued to bore into his head.

"There's just this…feeling there. This summoning. I know this isn't making sense and I'm sorry, it's not making sense to me either. The best way I can describe it is I just feel like I NEED to be there. I need to protect her, and it's almost like I sense…like I sense that she needs me too. I don't know," he said, pausing his rambling and shrugging. "There's this magnetization that I can't quite explain."

Everyone was silent, some thoughtfully nodding. Ron suddenly perked up and leaned forward, a mischievous grin on his face.

"So, this magnetic pull that you feel towards her, would you say it's coming from between your hips, just below your belly button, or—"

"Ronald Weasley!" both Hermione and Molly said in unison. Hermione made a face of disgust and slapped him on his arm and Ron guffawed to himself. Fred caught a glance at Harry, whose head was buried on his chest as his whole body shook with silent laughter. Even Ginny was twitching her mouth, fighting a smirk.

Fred's face felt hot. "Shut up Ron, or else I'm going to perform a little magic trick that ensures you'll never be able to impregnate your wife again," he said menacingly.

The grin was instantaneously wiped from Ron's face. If he had learned anything growing up with his twin brothers, it was that when Fred or George made a threat, it was more like a promise.

"Alright everyone. It's late. Actually, it's just about four in the morning, so maybe it's early. Anyway," said Arthur, rising to his feet. "Let's all get home. Fred and George, you're coming with us. Angelina, you're of course more than welcome too, love. How about we get some rest and reconvene later, we'll have the rest of the Order join us for a meet."

"What about the girl?" George said, his face turned towards his father but his eyes shifting over to Fred.

"We'll come back for her in the morning. Well…later. You know what I mean. Molly is right, she needs some protection and it's our duty to provide that. Right now, off to the Floo lobby. Okay?"

Agreeable murmurs spread through the room, and those who sat rose to their feet and stretched. Arthur led the way, nodding to Fred and touching his arm as he passed him out the doorway.

"Good job, son," he said.

Fred smiled weakly at him and stayed as everyone filed out one by one. George was the last to leave, shooting his twin a curious look, which Fred ignored. He slowly stepped forward and followed his twin out, shutting the door to their room behind him and following his family down the corridor.

With every step he took, something—his intuition, as Hermione had called it—stirred inside of him, an uneasiness. Before he turned the corner, he paused and took one final look down the hall and stared at the door to the girl's room.

In the moment that his eyes locked with the door, the spot on his palm that had shared a shock with the girl's hand jumped. He cradled his hand, waiting one more moment—for what, he didn't know—and unwillingly followed the rest of the group, through the Floo network and back to the Burrow.


	6. Chapter 6--Dream

**Chapter 6—Dream**

If there was one thing that always brought the dwellers of the Burrow together, it was a meal cooked by Molly Weasley.

It was barely six in the morning, but everyone sat around the crowded table with empty plates and full bellies. The excitement of the early morning's happenings made everyone feel as though they had been awake for ages. The whole group had arrived at the Burrow a bit out of sorts, on the verge of grumpy actually—they were tired, hungry, and their minds were still reeling over what had happened to Fred and George.

George was noticeably happier with Angelina around, but everyone took notice that Fred still seemed…distracted. Like his body was there, at the table with everyone else, but his mind was busy elsewhere.

"Have you ever seen Fred like that?" asked Hermione quietly, settling down on her and Ron's bed.

Their bedroom was on the top floor of the house, with one wall being made of entirely windows and a small bathroom attached. They both knew upon marrying last year that the norm was to move out and settle down in a place of their own, but when Molly and Arthur had offered them the upstairs suite, formerly Charlie's, they were actually quite content in graciously accepting the offer. They had enough privacy when they wanted it but were still only a staircase away from the rest of the family. The floor below them was empty; containing the former bedrooms of Fred and George, Percy, and Bill. Harry and Ginny had separate bedrooms on the floor below that, with Molly and Arthur's room across the hall from their daughter's.

"No. Well, sort of, I guess," said Ron, dropping to his knee in front of Hermione and removing her shoes for her. She tenderly smiled down at him and smoothed his red hair off of his forehead. He smiled back, leaning forward to give her belly a kiss before standing up. Hermione scooted backwards on the bed and laid down on her side; Ron flopped down beside her.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Ron started. "Don't you remember when he was in the hospital after the Battle? He looked like that sometimes. Dreamy. Contemplative. Like he wasn't really there or something."

"Yes, but he was also quite depressed," said Hermione. "He doesn't seem depressed now. He just seems…far away."

Ron absentmindedly reached forward to rest his hand on her belly, stroking it a little. "Yeah. I guess you're right. Maybe it was just being in the hospital, then. I dunno, I think spending half a year of your life there having to learn how to walk again changes a person. Probably brought back a lot of old feelings."

Hermione nodded a little. "I remember. He always had this grin plastered on his face when we popped in for a visit but it reminded me of someone wearing a mask. Like if someone had reached over and pulled it off, he would've just crumbled."

Ron stared into space for a moment. "I don't ever want to see him like that again," he murmured.

"Neither do I."

The early morning sun streamed in through the window-filled wall the bed was up against, bathing everything in a buttery golden light and displaying dust particles drifting lazily through its rays. Countless birds sang their sunrise songs, hiding in the thick tree line gathered behind the house.

"Y'know if we're lucky, the next time we'll be in the hospital will be when the baby's here," said Ron.

Hermione laughed. "Yes. IF we're lucky."

"And then every consecutive year after that until we hit 6 or 7 of them. Running around like a little army."

"We are not having seven children Ron."

"We might," said Ron, grinning. "What can I say Hermione? I just have this _magnetic pull_ towards you…" He leaned in to kiss her as they both giggled, and she playfully pushed him away at the shoulder.

"Hey," she said. "Don't tease Fred like that again, or else he really might follow through on that promise of his." Her eyes traveled down to Ron's groin and back up, meeting his eyes and shrugging.

Ron gulped. "Agreed."

Hermione was smiling and shaking her head. "I can't believe you said something like that in front of your mother, Ron."

He sheepishly smiled. "Yeah, probably wasn't the best choice, was it? I can only imagine if she knew the kind of things I know now about Fred, from what George has told me."

Hermione propped herself up on her elbows. "What has he told you?"

"Well, you know them. Two peas in a pod and all that, not ones for snitching. But last week at their birthday party, I think George had a little too much to drink…or maybe he was just pretending he had in order to justify telling me what he did. Kind of seemed like he was dying to let it all out and he was relieved once he did. I dunno."

"What is it Ron, out with it then!"

He sighed. "It was right after George and Angelina had shared a dance and Angelina excused herself for a bit. I asked him if Fred had any dancing partners in his future, and I was only kind of joking, but then George kind of started…spilling his guts. Told me Fred has these spells where he's in pain for a few days, confined to bed and depressed, and then the second he feels well again, he… he goes out, has too much to drink and has a…" Ron trailed off.

"A what?"

"A conquest," he said, his face uncomfortable. He started fiddling with a hole in the blanket. "He brings home these random women and then kicks them out a bit later, usually in the middle of the night. Then he's back to his old self in the morning, but it's only temporary, obviously. His condition worsens again a few weeks later and he repeats it all."

Hermione's jaw opened in shock. "That can't be true. He had to have been joking, Ron!"

Ron shrugged and shook his head. "I don't think he was. I know, I found it hard to believe at first too. I didn't even know he was still suffering from his injuries. He's prideful, I've always known that, but shut in like that in silence? He must be going mental. It's not good, Hermione."

"No, it's not," she replied, frowning bitterly. "Why is he doing this to himself? Why doesn't he ask for some help, or support? He's obviously not getting any ACTUAL happiness out of these wild nights of his, anyone with a brain could guess he's doing it to fill some sort of void. Hey," she suddenly stopped, looking over at Ron. "You don't think that's what he's doing now, is it?"

"With what, the girl in the hospital?" Ron replied, his face screwed up in disgust. "No, no I don't think so. George made it very clear he has these flings with no attachment, no connections whatsoever. He said he's never even seen one stay for breakfast or a spot of tea. It's as though after they leave, he never thinks of them again."

Hermione lowered herself back down to rest her head on her pillow and sighed heavily. "That's so-"

"Cruel? Heartless? Take your pick," Ron finished for her. "He's my brother and all, and I love him, but something's not right."

Hermione nodded.

"Anyway, clearly that's not what's going on right now. You saw him in the hospital and down at breakfast. I could practically see the bloody wheels spinning in his head. He's thinking about something. He's thinking about_ her,_" he specified. "Something weird is going on."

They lay in silence for a few minutes. "Say Hermione," said Ron with a sudden smirk, propping himself up and leaning close to his wife. "I think I may be in the mood to fill a void. What do you say?"

She grimaced. "I'm disgusting, Ron. It looks like your brother's wall boil from their shop, Barry or whatever its name is, is attached to my torso," she said, gesturing towards her swollen stomach.

"Oh no Hermione, I think you're quite beautiful, actually…"he murmured, trailing off, and lowered his head to kiss her.

000000

Fred lay in the tall grass of one of the meadows behind his family home, arms behind his head and long legs stretched out. This had always been his favorite spot growing up on the rare occasions he had craved alone time: bathed in the shade of an enormous oak tree, upon a bed of flattened grass. The rest of it stood tall, tall enough to be up to his thighs while standing, and surrounded him as he lay , gently swaying in the breeze making whispering and rustling sounds.

If he listened hard he could hear the clatter of dishes and running of water, sounds that floated out of the Burrow's kitchen window as his mother and younger sister cleaned up after their meal. Fred was in rare form; uninterested in eating and quiet. He hadn't even teased Harry when he'd spilled jam all over his lap; he had felt eyes on him waiting to make a comment but it had been too late by the time he had realized what had happened.

"Are you alright?" George had murmured behind his teacup.

"I'm just tired," he muttered back.

Truthfully he was tired, enormously tired—he and George had now been awake for a full 24 hours. After breakfast he had bathed and changed into some clean clothes his mother had kept around for them in case of unexpected visits, and then headed straight down to here, his little hideaway spot. But the tiredness wasn't all that was distracting him. His mind was still reeling from everything that had happened within the past few hours, and he was a mess of emotions.

He felt ashamed, embarrassed, and angry at himself for doing exactly what George had accused him of—completely losing his mind in battle and becoming a bumbling fool. He was worried about the fight they had witnessed and subsequently inserted themselves in; they hadn't faced real threats to the ongoing peace they had been enjoying in years, and he wondered what it meant for the future. He was nervous about facing the rest of the Order later and recounting his story. And of course, his thoughts were still lost in thinking about_ her. _God, he wished he knew her name. What he had attempted to explain to his family at the hospital was still nagging at him: this strange pull, this nameless feeling that made him feel like he was exactly where he needed to be while talking to her, and this urge to continue doing so. His intuition, Hermione had said.

Fred had been interested in women before, at least temporarily, many more than he liked to admit to himself. But that was something different, something primal. That was his hormones and his aching pride and ego colliding, and telling him to go make himself feel better by feeling desired and needed again.

This however…it was uncharted territory entirely. It was a silly comparison, but thinking about that girl reminded Fred of how he felt years ago when he and George had first had the idea to start Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Hungry for more. Impatient for the future. Motivated. Empowered. Excited, even.

He wondered if this all came from some kind of ego stroke he had received by saving the girl's life. 'A saving-people-thing', Hermione had once characterized it. Was that what it was? Was this all just one big subconscious pat on the back he was eagerly waiting to receive?

Fred shook his head to himself. He didn't think so, and he was going to drive himself mad trying to figure it out.

He breathed heavily and finally closed his eyes, letting himself relax as the loud chorus of the birds weaved through the trees and the breeze danced upon his face. He really was so, so tired…

"Fred."

Fred's eyes snapped open. He recognized that voice, he had been replaying it over and over again in his head for the past couple hours…

He lifted his head up. Things were different; the birdsongs had completely ceased and the breeze was still. The sounds of dishes being washed had stopped as well, and the air felt completely stagnant.

"Fred."

He sat up quickly, expecting pain in his side from his broken ribs but there was none. And she was there—sitting, not even a wand's length away from his feet.

"H-hi," he said breathlessly, in shock.

She was different as well. She appeared healthy and fresh, happy, even. She was practically glowing; wearing a soft looking white sundress fanned out over her legs which were tucked around her to the side. Her blonde hair fell down to her ribs in gentle waves and practically shimmered in the dappled sunlight streaming in through the tree leaves. Fred noticed she was barefoot, and her skin, from her feet all the way up to her face, was smooth. Clean. Unscathed. Her grayish green eyes, which in the hospital had contained a glazed, dead look to them, were lit up with excitement and her lips were curved in a small smile.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," she said.

He shook his head, straightening up and resting his palms on the ground behind him. "No, you didn't. I was just resting."

She smiled a little wider, her lips still closed, and nodded.

"What are you doing here? Why didn't you let me come see you in the hospital again?" Fred was aware of an odd muffled undertone to his voice as he spoke, as though his ears were partially covered.

"It… wasn't safe for me to talk to you out in the open like that," she said. Her smile faded a little and she slightly squinted at him, seemingly studying his face to see if he was angry with her.

Fred grinned at her encouragingly and spread his arms out widely, gesturing to the open meadow they sat in. "Well we're pretty out in the open here too, haven't you noticed?"

Thankfully, she grinned back, but it was just slightly mischievous, a look of knowing something he didn't. Fred recognized it instantly as he had displayed that exact face to others many, many times over the years.

"I'm sorry for acting so strangely back there," she said, cocking her head to one side a little. Some of her hair fell off her shoulder.

"You don't need to keep apologizing, you know. You were hurt. I've been out of sorts while stuck in a hospital too, don't worry."

She nodded once in reply. The breeze suddenly started again, the leaves above them rustling and the branches creaking.

"Speaking of, you look like you're doing better than when I last saw you," he said.

She grinned again as though she was up to something, and slowly rose to her feet. She spread her arms out, like a bird displaying full wingspan, tilted her head back and spun around halfway, her dress twirling with her and bouncing in the air like a blooming flower. Fred couldn't help but laugh a little as he looked up at her, amused by her display of happiness. She rotated again, faster this time, letting her arms fall and her fingertips trace the tops of the grass. He noticed her hair fanning out as she spun, and saw her back—it was completely healed, showing no evidence of the horrific burns that had last afflicted it. The large **M**/**W** tattoo was gone from the back of her neck as well.

He pushed himself to his feet, his hands in his back pockets while standing in front of her as she slowed to a stop, the wide smile and glint in her eye still present. He couldn't stop himself from smiling either; her happiness was contagious, absolutely infectious.

"You should come inside," he said excitedly, pointing his thumb in the direction of the Burrow. "I want everyone to meet you, the entire Order is coming over for a meeting and you can explain what happened, there's going to be food and you're welcome to stay as long as you want…"his babbling trailed off as her smile melted from her face. "What's wrong?"

She shifted her gaze from side to side, suddenly looking worried. The breeze in the air stopped and felt suffocating again.

"I can't stay," she said, taking a step back, her eyes still not meeting Fred's.

Fred took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Why not?"

She shook her head slowly, a full grimace shadowing her features.

"Why not?" he repeated. He knew he was being pushy and intrusive, but his time with her had been cut short before, and he was determined to not let it happen again now.

"Because you're a good person and I don't want you getting hurt," she said rather hurriedly.

Fred laughed a little, raising his shoulders and letting them fall, and looked her in the eyes. "How do you know I'm a good person, huh?"

She bit her lip for a moment and then stepped forward even closer to Fred, close enough that she had to look up slightly for her eyes to meet his face. She took his hand, the same one that had met hers in the hospital.

"Because I read your Intent," she said softly. She squeezed his hand. "That's what I was doing when I did this."

His mind was spinning with questions, but he remained quiet and tilted his head down to her, his lips nearly brushing her forehead. "And why are you doing it now?" he said softly.

She stayed where she was for a moment, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and then suddenly let go of Fred's hand and started backing away.

"Where are you going?" Fred said rather pleadingly, taking a couple steps forward, but she held out her hands, signaling him to stop. He froze in place.

"Will you come see me? Tomorrow morning, in the hospital. Come see me," she said, still backing away.

Fred suddenly became aware of a high pitched ringing in his ears and everything became slightly blurry and out of focus.

"Yes, I'll come see you. I'll come see you! At least tell me your name." he called to her. His voice sounded more muffled than ever.

"Tell me your name, please."

She stopped backing away. He saw her take a deep breath, and she met complete eye contact with him.

"Ava. My name is Ava."

The side of his mouth hitched up in a small smile. "Ava," he repeated. He saw her mouth moving, saying more, but the volume of the ringing in his ears increased, until he could hear nothing else.

"FRED. OI, FRED."

His body felt like it was being torn out of something, a place in time, a sensation not very different than Apparition. He jumped and his breath caught in his chest, everything was black, maybe grey for just a moment, and then he felt his eyes opening.

Hovering above him was George's face, appearing upside down as he leaned over him from behind Fred's head, which he noticed was still solidly on the soft bed of grass. He blinked hard.

"Sorry mate but you've been sleeping all afternoon. Mum's serving supper at headquarters and the Order's started arriving—are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Fred sat up slowly. He felt as though he were in a fog, barely awake, his senses were having trouble grasping reality as he awoke from his apparent slumber.

He looked around him, rubbing his face. George was right; he had been out all day. The brilliant golden light of the morning had faded and everything around them had started to look shadowy and hazy, glazed in pink as the sun began to set. He could hear loud voices coming from the house again, the breeze was cool and lively and the birdsongs had returned.

"Fred?"

He didn't answer his twin, just looked from side to side wildly and scanned the meadow.

Everything had returned to how it had been before, and Ava was gone.


	7. Chapter 7--Treehouse

**Author's notes: Hope you're enjoying so far! What do you guys think of Ava? Do you think she's up to something? What do you make of the dream? Comment in the reviews!**

**thanks for reading!**

**Chapter 7—Treehouse**

Her name was Ava.

Her name was Ava, and she had visited Fred in a dream.

George stood with his mouth slightly agape after Fred finished telling him what had happened. They stared at each other for a few moments in silence in the slowly darkening meadow, bats darting overhead and heading to the forest for the night. Finally, George spoke.

"Blimey," was all he said. He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, stopping his hand halfway through and resting it on his scalp.

Fred didn't reply; the breeze started up again and the tall grass of the meadow made whispering sounds. He looked around him again.

"She's not here, mate," George said quietly. "She never was. I've been taking a look at you every now and then throughout the day, and you've just been here, sleeping. Alone."

"I know, I know." Fred gnawed on the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. "Help me up," he muttered.

His twin extended his arms; they grasped each other's forearms and George pulled him to his feet. Fred swore under his breath and clutched his side.

"It just…it just felt like she was," he said, his face still slightly screwed up in pain. He was staring out at the empty meadow as he spoke. "It felt so REAL. I've never dreamt like that before. Everything was…" he trailed off and paused again. "Perfect," he finished. "Too perfect. Too vibrant. Like everything was a little more shiny than normal, you know?"

George nodded slowly as though he understood, but truthfully he was confused as hell, and was just letting his twin babble at this point.

"And this!" Fred exclaimed, pointing to his broken ribs. "This was gone. So were her burns, bruises, everything. We were perfect. She was perfect," he said a little breathlessly. He snapped his head to look at George, slightly grimacing in deep confusion. "How did she do this?"

George was silent.

"What?" said Fred. "You want to say something, I know you do. You've got that look on your face, like you haven't taken a proper dump in a week."

George smiled a little but it quickly faded. "I don't know how she did it Fred, but I don't like it. Not at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't like it," George repeated, shrugging. "Fred…getting in someone's head like that…that's a serious sign of dark magic. You know that. We can't do that, no one we know can do that, even Dumbledore couldn't do that. There was only one person who could."

Fred just stared at his twin for a moment, until a look of realization washed over his face.

"You're talking about Voldemort, aren't you?"

"Need I remind you of a certain Harry Potter, who actually had to start taking classes with Snape to close his mind off to old Voldy because he wouldn't stop planting things in his bloody brain?"

Fred threw his head back and let out a single gratuitous laugh. "George, you might just be sniffing the wrong trail here, mate. I don't recall ever seeing Voldemort wearing a sundress. And Ava did have something he didn't, it's called a nose—"

"I know you want to make a joke out of this, but I'm quite serious," George said rather gravely. Fred raised a single eyebrow, and George sighed. "At least tell the Order at the meeting. Let's see what they think."

They walked alongside one another down the slight incline of the meadow back towards the house, until Fred stopped suddenly.

"Oi, George. The shop." His stomach dropped at the realization that they had abandoned their store late last night upon hearing Ava's fight in the alley—still a complete mess, and it had remained closed all day today. It was a Saturday; they had to have lost valuable business and his stomach turned again at the image of shoppers crowding around the store front, confused and disappointed to the dark interior and 'Closed' sign on the door.

To Fred's surprise, George grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't have a fit, mate. I sent owls out to Lee and Verity early and they were able to make it in and open up," he said, referring to their friend and business investor Lee Jordan and their longtime employee, Verity Daviens.

Fred let out a sigh of relief and they approached the house. George paused in his steps.

"Gonna go say farewell to Angelina," he said, smoothing his hair.

Fred crossed his arms. "Why doesn't she want to join the Order, George? Or even just sit in on meetings?"

"She doesn't like getting involved with the behind the scenes stuff," he replied with a shrug, now fiddling with his shirt.

"Come again?"

George grinned. "She likes to eat the steak, Fred, but prefers not to watch the cow get slaughtered, understand?" He turned around and headed toward the house. "Go ahead to the Treehouse, I'll be along momentarily," he called over his shoulder.

Fred shook his head while laughing to himself and passed by the house, making his way into the woods. It was nearly completely dark by now. A thick bed of pine needles crunched under Fred's feet as he walked and fireflies lazily drifted through the air in pinpricks of soft golden illumination. Their new headquarters, affectionately referred to as the Treehouse, had been up and running for three years now. It was a ten minute walk from the Burrow, quicker by broom of course, and impossible to Apparate to. Both Fred and George had tried to do so out of sheer curiosity, testing the extensive protective charms that had been set during the building process. They had more or less bounced off their destination and ended up rolling on the ground at the edge of the woods again.

Fred thought back upon how the Treehouse had gotten its start—Harry had sold the old headquarters at 12 Grimmauld Place shortly after the war ended, citing how Sirius had loathed it and he felt no desire to hold on to something his deceased Godfather had hated. The Order had used both the Burrow and Kingsley Shacklebot's Ministry office as temporary places for meetings, but they were all in agreeance that they needed a permanent residence—somewhere safe, and very hidden. Not just a home or a building, no, somewhere restricted, somewhere private.

"What, like a secret treehouse club for kids or something? Members only?" Ron had said with a couple guffaws. That day, their meeting had taken place in Fred's hospital room at St. Mungo's while he still recovered from his Battle injuries and endured physical therapy, learning to walk again.

The rest of the room hadn't joined in on the laughter, however—in fact, everyone had exchanged thoughtful looks.

"What? What did I say?" Ron had groaned.

He had thought he was in trouble for saying something stupid again, but he had actually planted the seed of the best idea for headquarters that they had come up with so far. Thus, the Treehouse was born.

Even with magic, it had taken nearly a year to build. Professor McGonagall had spent many laborious hours studying Dumbledore's old journals he had entrusted to her, which contained all of his secrets and methods to his most creative protection spells. Enchantments he had used on the old headquarters at Grimmauld, in fact. Fred remembered finally getting to see the construction site for the first time. He had been out of the hospital for two weeks, staying at the Burrow with his family temporarily while he slowly got accustomed to the real world outside of the hospital again. He was finally able to make the ten minute walk through the woods, and remembered looking up in amazement—there, soaring high above him in the thick of the trees, was a half finished treehouse, enormous in size.

"Amazing, isn't it?" George had said, standing beside him and grinning.

Amazing was right. He could see his brother Bill standing on an unfinished wooden platform, holding a parchment with architectural plans and explaining something to Charlie, who swung from a harness nailed into one of the tree trunks with a spike. Harry and Ron sat on their brooms with their wands out, floating outside the unfinished walls and magically directing nails into their places. Hagrid stood on the ground holding an enormous pile of lumber, which Hermione was levitating up to the building site piece by piece, and Luna Lovegood stood muttering in front of the thickest tree trunk, the main support system for the structure.

Fred now approached that same tree trunk, his trek through the woods over. He looked up first out of habit and of course saw nothing but towering thick layers of branches and the starry night sky peeking through—the Treehouse remained invisible to all until one actually entered it. It was one of Dumbledore's original enchantments, a variation of the one that shielded Hogwarts from Muggle view and one of their best protections against curious and unwelcome guests.

He raised his left arm and pushed his hand, fingers spread, firmly on to the tree trunk. The gnarled bark around the outline of his hand glowed green, signifying approval of entry. With a deep breath he braced himself and stepped forward on to the bed of green moss gathered at the base of the trunk.

He had done this at least a hundred times by now but it still managed to come as a surprise every time he did it. His body was immediately launched up and slightly forwards in the air as though he had been catapulted, an exaggerated trampoline effect. He gained speed, the forest canopy becoming a blur of browns, greys, and greens around him, until he slowed and reached the top of his launch potential. For one terrifying second, gravity tugged at his body which began to fall back down to the forest floor, and his stomach dropped. But he was met with the familiar sensation of landing and bouncing on the enormous hammock-like catch, made of layered cargo netting.

It took Fred a moment to catch his breath before he composed himself and crawled across the net, on to the wide wooden platform set out before the entrance to the first floor of the Treehouse. Altogether it was three stories high—the first floor spread out before him, rectangular in shape and home-like, complete with both Bay and little square windows and a small chimney sprouting from the left side of the roof. Erupting through the center of the roof was a tightly wound spiral staircase which lead to the second story—high above the first rectangular room, perched on stilts, it was a perfectly circular structure with walls entirely made of floor-to-ceiling glass. They used that room for training, practicing both magical and physical maneuvers. The twisted stairs continued through the center of that room as well, leading all the way up to the last story—just a small, square shaped screened in porch with a couple of lounge chairs arranged inside that they used for private talks, or even just relaxing. It really was a massive structure that he still sometimes had trouble believing was built within the trees.

The flickering of candle light danced out the windows before him and he could hear voices from the inside, as well as the smell of stew wafting through the air. A _whoosh_ of air and a creak of the cargo netting being strained came from behind him, and he turned to see George climbing on to the platform beside him, hair windswept and broom in hand.

"Let's do this," he said with a grin, tilting his head in the direction of the door and turning the knob.

"THERE THEY ARE!" came a booming voice, and both Fred and George found themselves completely smothered in an embrace by Hagrid.

"Argh—yes, happy to see you too, very happy—"

"Good to see you—Hagrid_, you're going to break my other ribs_—"

"_Geroff, geroff!"_

Hagrid released them and backed away red faced. "Ah, yes, sorry 'bout that…"

The twins straightened up, smoothing out their clothes and catching their breath. It seemed like they were the last to arrive. Their mother crouched in front of the fireplace against the left side wall, stirring a giant cauldron of rich beef stew, chunks of meat, potato, and carrots floating at the top of the thick brown broth. Hermione walked around, weaving through the three long rectangular tables they had set up in the center of the room, holding a tray and passing out steaming rolls of crusty bread. Fred's stomach cramped and gurgled as he suddenly realized how hungry he was.

"Boys," said Professor McGonagall, sitting at the table farthest to the left, tilting her chin down and raising her wine glass in greeting.

"Hi Professor," they said in unison.

The Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt sat between her and their father, who was hungrily ripping his teeth into a roll. Hagrid settled down across from them and eyed Hermione's tray hungrily, impatiently tapping his enormous fingers on the wooden table top.

At the middle table sat Neville Longbottom and Luna, their hands threaded together under the table. Beside them were Ron and Lee Jordan, and across from them was Harry and Ginny, laughing at something Lee had just said. And at the last table sat Bill, his wife Fleur, Percy and his wife, Audrey, Charlie, and lastly, the newest addition to the Order: a man named Vladimir, a co-worker of Charlie's from Romania. He was scowling most of the time, with a shiny head of slicked back onyx colored hair. He stayed mostly silent until he opened his mouth every now and then to say something either ominous or rather profound. But he was trustworthy, and a good wizard to have on their side in battle. He was a spell sniper of sorts—his job with Charlie was hitting dragons in the eyes with stunning spells to sedate them.

Fred and George settled down next to Ron and Lee, and simultaneously turned as Hermione walked behind them with her tray of rolls. They each immediately snatched two up, one in each of their hands. George clapped his hand, still full of bread, to his chest dramatically.

"Goodness, Hermione, look at that belly! Congratulations, I think you may just be preg—" George started, but was interrupted by Hermione pelting him with another roll to the head.

"Still not funny George," she said, smirking, and set beside Ginny.

Their mother brought them each steaming bowls of stew and glasses, and Harry pushed them the bottle of wine.

"Well now that everyone is here, I think we should start, then," said their father loudly. He cleared his throat. "Late last night…err, early this morning I suppose…Fred and George were involved in an attack."

George tilted his head towards Fred. _'So dramatic,'_ he mouthed to his twin, rolling his eyes.

Bill visibly perked up in his seat, straightening to get a good look at Fred and George. "What happened? By who?" he asked.

Fred finished scraping the last bit of stew from his bowl and glanced around him. Bill's body and face was turned towards their father, but his eyes lingered on Fred. He looked over to see Fleur, Charlie, and Percy all doing the same. He felt his face heating up and dropped his spoon, letting it clatter against the inside of the bowl.

"We weren't even the ones attacked!" he exclaimed, shooting a dirty look to his eldest brothers.

"Well dear that's not true, you and George were both hurt—"their mother began, but George interrupted her.

"No Mum, Fred's right," he said, nodding fervently. "The bloke doing the attack, he even ignored us at first." He scanned the rest of the room, taking a moment to pause and look at each person. "Fred and I heard noises as we were closing up shop and came upon him chasing down and attacking her, he didn't seem to care much that we interrupted him."

"Her?" Percy asked, looking over the top of his glasses.

"This girl…she looked like she had been fighting him for hours. She was filthy, heavily injured. Looked to be about our age I suppose. But wandless. And terrified of this man. He was short, kind of ugly really, with a pointed face—"

"Looked like a rat, actually," Fred interjected. George nodded.

"And he was ANGRY. Like, really, stinking mad. Swore at the girl something awful as she tried to escape. What was interesting was that he never tried to kill her really, he just kept trying to immobilize her…stun her, injure her—"

"Which he definitely succeeded in doing," Fred finished. "He threw this…thing, reminded me of a Snitch to be honest. Threw it at her back and then disappeared."

"He threw a Snitch at her back?" said Harry, brows furrowed in confusion.

Fred shook his head. "Just sort of looked like one, mate. But it was all metal, grey colored. It hit her back and there was this eruption of white smoke that burned everything…our eyes, skin, throat. Couldn't breathe without choking, upturned both our stomachs." He cringed at the memory.

"But the smoke was just a side effect of what actually happened," George continued for him. "By the time it cleared the girl was face down and nearly unconscious, her entire back was seared off."

"Her back was…seared off?" Bill repeated, his face wrinkled in disgust.

George shrugged. "Clothes were burned off, skin was burned off, her entire back looked like a wad of chewed up bubblegum, to be honest with you—"

"I'm sure they understand George," his father said, his face drained of color. He patted his forehead with his napkin.

"Do we have any idea who this slimy bloke is?" asked Charlie, first looking to his father, then to Fred and George.

"No, but I DO have his wand," said George, reaching inside his jacket and extracting it. He set it down upon the table delicately. It was unremarkable looking, maybe about ten inches and made of a shiny, reddish colored wood.

"Ah. Good work George," said his father. He nodded at Ron and Harry. "Boys, see to it that this gets analyzed at work. You have something in the Auror office that helps trace wand owners, am I correct?"

Both Ron and Harry nodded, and Harry tucked the wand inside his coat.

"I will see to it personally that this gets done," said Kingsley. He looked at Ron and Harry. "We will do it together."

"What happened to zee girl?" asked Fleur.

"Yeah, anyway, we brought her to St. Mungo's and I was able to go and see her briefly while she received treatment," said Fred. "She really didn't have much to say. She was just barely conscious. But she did tell me that George and I shouldn't have done what we did, that the man would never forget, and then she said we should have just left her there and let her die. Kind of depressing, really."

Hermione was shaking her head. "She's terrified of him," she said quietly. The rest of the room nodded and murmured in agreeance.

"Well, also, there was this thing," continued Fred, feeling his face warm again, this time in embarrassment. "Before she said anything to me, she…she took my hand."

The room was silent for a moment, and Fred could almost feel George's questioning gaze drilling into him, but he avoided his twin's eyes. A sudden sensation of guilt washed over him from keeping something from George.

"Was she thanking you for saving her?" asked Audrey.

Fred shook his head. "No. she just kind of…held it for a bit. Squeezed it. And then I felt this shock, right in the center of my palm. Then she just released it."

"Why didn't you tell us this before, at the hospital?" Ginny said, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Fred shrugged. "Dunno. I'm telling you now."

Everyone was quiet again, and Fred took a deep breath. "But after I left her room…I saw her again," he continued.

"But you said she wouldn't let you in again. No visitors, right?" Ginny continued her inquisition.

Fred and George simultaneously turned their gazes on to one another, their chins down as they attempted subtlety, locking eyes in silence for a moment.

"What is it boys?" their father asked. He knew what they were doing all too well; everyone in the room did. The twins had always possessed this gift of silent communication, an unspoken language where all they had to do was share a facial expression, or even just a look in their eyes, and people in the room with them could practically see the gears in their heads turning.

"I saw her this afternoon. All afternoon, I suppose. She was..."he struggled to finish his words again. "She was in my dream. As I slept, out in the meadow."

McGonagall leaned forward slowly. "You mean you dreamt about her?"

"No, I didn't dream ABOUT her. I just went to sleep without realizing it, and she was there. In the meadow with me. She was healthy and astonishingly happy…dancing around in the grass and everything. It was such a drastic change from before, in the hospital…she had been so frightened, so depressed. Hopeless. But in the meadow, she acted like she was…" he trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Like she was what?" Ron pressed.

"Free. Like she was free," Fred finished. "And she asked me to come see her in the morning. _And_ she told me her name. It's Ava."

Everyone just kept staring at him, and he squirmed on the bench, slightly uncomfortable. "George thinks she's Voldemort," Fred said dryly, lifting his wine glass to his mouth and throwing all of its contents back at once, draining it.

George moaned beside him. "Oh come on, come off of it, I did not say she WAS Voldemort. The whole thing just evoked some memories. Of you, Harry," he said pointedly, nodding at his friend.

Harry jumped slightly. "Me?"

"That's a good point boys," said McGonagall. "Your Occulemency, Mr. Potter—Harry," she corrected herself. She had been working hard as of late to start seeing all her former students as adults, and no longer children in her classroom.

"Well yeah, Dumbledore had me take private lessons with Snape to teach me how to close my mind to Voldemort," Harry explained to the rest of the room. "What, Professor, do you think this girl—Ava, is a Legilimens?" he asked, referring to one that practices invasions of the mind.

McGonagall stared into space for a moment, and raised one of her shoulders. "Doubtful, Harry, but one of the only things that come to mind as of this moment. But very, very doubtful."

"Why so?" asked Fred.

Vladimir finally spoke, lowering his pipe, his face grave. "Even the most skilled Legilimens in the world can penetrate the mind wandlessly. Wordlessly," he said. "But not through dreams. To enter one's unconscious mind…that is something dark. That is something even Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort themselves were unable to do."

"Aye, that's not true though," argued George. "What about the dream Harry had, seeing Voldemort's snake attack our Dad?"

"That wasn't Legilimency, George," said Harry. "That was the psychic connection I shared with Voldemort. He didn't show me that willingly." He looked back and forth at the twins. "When I was practicing with Snape, and he went into my mind, it felt like an invasion. It was beyond an unwelcome visit, it was an attack. Like a disease I couldn't fight off. Total violation."

"That's not what it felt like," Fred replied at once, defensive. "It didn't feel like an invasion, it felt more like a, like a friendly visit or something. It was pleasant. Like I said, everything was all perfect and dreamy, and it just felt…right. Like everything was going to be okay. We were both completely healed, my ribs didn't hurt, her burns were gone, her tattoo was gone—"

"Tattoo?" Charlie interjected.

"This. It was on the back of her neck." Fred pulled his wand out of his seat pocket and raised it in the air, hesitating for a moment, his face in concentration. He then drew it, the tip of his wand leaving behind a glowing, violently orange trail, until the **M** with the reflective** W** beneath it was complete. It shone brightly, levitating in the air for a few moments as everyone gazed upon it, and then slowly faded.

"Has anyone seen this before?" his father asked, looking at everyone in the room. Everyone either shook their heads or murmured 'no', but Hermione suddenly spoke.

"I don't know what it is exactly, but it has to mean something bad."

Fred raised his eyebrows. "How do you reckon?"

She shrugged. "You said in your dream everything was perfect. Everything bad was gone—all of both yours and her injuries. She was ecstatic to be there, and you felt good as well. Everything unpleasant left and only the good things remained, am I correct? So by that logic, the tattoo was removed because it was dirty."

Everyone nodded and murmured thoughtfully, and Fred's father stood. "Well, what's the vote then, what do we think?" he addressed the group.

All the Order members were silent and visibly uncomfortable, and with good reason—all of them had dealt with plenty of dark magic and the awful witches and wizards who dealt in it in generous amounts, however, it was confusing to be faced with someone who they couldn't even tell was good or bad.

Bill was the first to speak. "I'm not sure what to make of this girl overall, Fred, but I can tell you that I don't like the fact that she penetrated your mind like that."

Fred made a face as though he has just tasted something vile, his nose scrunched and his mouth in an exaggerated frown. "I wasn't _penetrated_ by anything, Bill, and really, why do you have to use a disgusting word like that—Mum, what happened to feeling like she was a helpless victim who needed protection, hmm? Merlin's beard_, she was attacked, we're supposed to help, that's what we do_—" Fred felt George's hand lightly touch his knee, urging him to calm down, but he shook him off.

Molly squirmed in her seat. "I know I said that dear, but that was before she invaded your mind. That kind of thing makes me uneasy to trust—"

"I WASN'T BLOODY INVADED!" Fred exclaimed, banging his fist on the table and rising to his feet. His empty wine glass tipped over and rolled, and a spasm of pain shot up from his wrist, all the way up to his shoulder and to his neck. He cringed slightly but otherwise ignored it, his face in stony defiance.

"I think you're not thinking clearly, mate. Maybe you should let the Order make the decision," Charlie said quietly.

Fred made a disgusted guttural sound and turned to face the windows, his back to everyone with his hands on his hips and his head bowed. He took a couple deep breaths before he spoke again.

"I'm not crazy, and I wish everyone would stop treating me as so," he said darkly, his back still turned.

"No one thinks you're crazy, love—"his mother started, but Fred interrupted, turning around slowly as he spoke and still staring at the ground.

"I am not crazy. I am not a child. I know how I feel, and I know how everyone else feels too, okay?" he looked up. "I know I'm not the same person I was before, not all the time. I know I'm different, I know I'm a little damaged. I know I've got some work to do. But I haven't completely lost it. I haven't lost touch with reality and forgotten how to make decisions and judgment calls. And I wish you all would stop handling me like I'm some bloody broken vase that shattered into a million pieces and was haphazardly glued back together, and if you grip me too hard or pass me along too fast I'll break again. You don't trust me fully yet, I get it, it's absolutely palpable." His eyes scanned and momentarily rested on everyone in the room. He lastly looked at his mother, who had her hand over her mouth and her eyes shining with tears.

"If we turn her away, and you all are wrong about her, we are turning away a victim of dark magic," he continued, his voice soft but grave. "Are you all willing to risk that? Are you all willing to let someone be hunted down and killed because you lost your shit over a dream I had?"

Hagrid was the first to make a noise. He shifted in his seat, the bench making a threatening creaking sound, and he shrugged. "I dunno, I think Fred's right," he said apprehensively. "'E's got a point. I don't think we 'ave enough information to make the call. I think we 'ave to trust Fred on this one. 'E seems to know best."

Luna then spoke, nodding. "I agree with Fred too. After all, we can let the tree make the decision," she said dreamily.

George raised a single eyebrow. "Erm…the tree?"

"Yes, the tree," she replied. "I enchanted it so it approves Order members and their guests only, yes, but it also rejects dark magic. Have her come by and let it scan her hand. If her intentions are evil, we'll know."

Fleur suddenly let out a giggle. "I seenk zats razzer brilliant," she said.

"Alright then. Alright. Alright," Arthur said nervously, shifting his feet. He looked at Fred sheepishly. "Fred, you can go fetch her in the morning. But you are not to go alone, and you are to bring her straight to the tree, you understand?"

"Of course he's not going alone, we're going together, right Fred?" George piped up, looking at his twin pleadingly. He knew Fred would probably prefer to go alone, but he felt his family teetering on a precipice, the edge of a row, and he was doing everything in his power to shut it down.

"Yes, it's perfect. Brilliant. Glad it's been settled. See you back at the house, George," Fred said, sarcastically grinning and giving a double thumbs-up to the inhabitants of the room. He sharply turned on his heel and kicked the door open, heading out to the platform.

Over his shoulder behind him was silence. No one called after him. No one cried out apologies, no one begged him to stay.

They let him leave, and he was glad.


	8. Chapter 8--Never

**Author's Notes: thank you again to each and every one of my faves, followers, reviewers, and readers. I appreciate you all so much!**

**I just wanted to touch on one thing-in a review posted by a wonderful reader after my last chapter, she wondered why Fred is so defensive of a girl he barely knows, to his entire family and the Order. It was certainly a good question, one that I fully intended on answering-and it's about to be answered right now.**

**Please leave me a review! They're awesome!**

**Chapter 8—Never **

Fred lay on top of his old bed's mattress, utterly restless and wide awake. He intermittently pulled the blankets up to his chin and then threw them off again. His heels dangled off the end of the bed; his height had outgrown it since he was sixteen years old but he had gotten used to that over time while still living at home. By the time he and George had moved out into their own flat at eighteen, they were able to afford beds of their own even larger than the ones they had slept on in the Gryffindor dormitory.

But sleep wasn't evading him due to lack of comfort. He was a mess of emotions and felt like his mind was a jumbled disaster; far too many thoughts and feelings were crammed inside of his skull and they threatened to overflow, spilling out of his ears and on to the pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and slapped his hands over his face, rubbing his skin vigorously, begging for clarity.

Footsteps he recognized as George's shuffled up the stairs. Fred heard his twin bidding their parents goodnight. More stairs, and then he neared his and Fred's old room. Fred immediately tossed to his side, facing the wall and choked upon a sharp intake of breath. He had forgotten about his injured ribs and had slammed right on to them. Pain pulsed at his side but he breathed deeply, feigning sleep. He wasn't in the mood to talk right now, and he knew George was going to want to pick at his brain.

The door creaked open and then shut again, and he could hear the rustling of clothing and clanging of a belt buckle as George undressed and pulled on pajamas. The other mattress creaked and Fred sent a silent thank-you to the heavens, relieved his act of fake sleep had worked.

His thank-you was premature.

George chuckled softly. "You know that I know you're not _actually_ sleeping, right mate?"

Fred rolled his eyes to himself and cursed under his breath.

"You're doing exactly what I'd be doing if I were pretending. Also, you're leaning right on your broken ribs. Come off of it, you're not fooling me. The joys of having a twin, am I right?" George continued, chuckling again.

"I'm sorry, did we have a slumber party planned that I wasn't aware of?" Fred asked sourly.

"Yeah, actually, we did. I think your invitation got lost in the mail. Now stop this nonsense and look at me."

Fred hesitated for a second, his jaw tight in annoyance, and reluctantly turned to face his brother, clutching his side. He admittedly felt relieved to have taken the pressure off of his injury.

"First of all," George said, "take these." He tossed the pouch of Dinwiddle Blossoms on to Fred's bed. "Secondly, why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

Fred popped two of the purple flowers into his mouth and sighed at the instant relief he felt both physically and emotionally. He still felt all he was feeling before, but everything suddenly somehow seemed more manageable.

"Listen…don't take this the wrong way. But buzz off. I am so utterly exhausted of talking about my feelings right now; I think I've done so more in the past twenty-four hours than I have in the past twenty-four years. I'm not even sure what I'm feeling, at this point. I know you mean well but I feel like my brain's about to pop like a bloody balloon."

George made a shushing noise. "Keep your voice down," he said softly.

They were silent for a moment and then suddenly found themselves in a fit of hushed laughter; they had simultaneously been reminded of the many years they had spent together in this bedroom planning and speaking of mischievous and forbidden things, desperately doing exactly this—keeping things secret, keeping them quiet. It was like old times, and for just a second Fred felt like a kid again, and it was wonderful.

"Mum was crying after you left, you know," said George.

The heaviness of guilt pitted inside Fred's chest. "I didn't want her to cry," he muttered.

George nodded. "I know. She knows."

Fred sighed heavily. "Look, I dunno if I was coming off like a crazy git or what. I probably was. I know I got a bit defensive, but I don't think anyone really understands where I'm coming from with this."

"Then help me understand."

George stared at his twin expectantly, and Fred took a moment to collect his jumbled thoughts before speaking.

"I know you've probably got some idea in your head that I'm acting like this because she's a pretty girl. Damsel in distress, princess in a tower and all that. Like this is some big stroke to my ego or something."

"I don't think that, actually," George said.

"Let me finish," said Fred firmly. "Because I want to make this clear. I would feel this _exact way_ no matter who was in that alleyway. Pretty girl, ugly girl, eighty year old man for God's sake. It doesn't hurt that she's beautiful and interesting of course, but aside from that rubbish, I just feel…I feel like someone finally needs me. Like someone finally trusts me."

Hurt flickered across George's face. "You think I don't need you? Or trust you? You're wrong."

"That's not what I meant George. I'm sorry, I'm probably not explaining this correctly." Fred fiddled with a hole in his pillowcase. "She's looking at me, and seeing me. Really, actually seeing me. Looking at me like I'm a person and not—"

"A vase that shattered into a million pieces and was glued back together haphazardly, ready to fall apart again any second?" George interrupted, citing the example Fred had given back in the Treehouse. Fred went silent, and George sighed and sat upright, shaking his head. "You should've said something, mate. You've been letting all of this rubbish build up inside of you for four years and now it's bubbling out in a mess."

Fred sat up as well and held out his arms expectantly. "What could I have said? 'Hey George, I just spent two days in bed because I can barely turn my head without some kind of pain somewhere, and I'm so humiliated I can't even bear to look at myself in the mirror! Oh and remember our brother, Ron? Well at his wedding last year I hid in the toilet sobbing for almost an hour like a little girl because I felt like I would never have the love with someone that he has with Hermione—that's how God damn empty my heart feels. Oh! And every time I hear something crashing to the ground my heart skips a beat because I flash back to that big. Ugly. Fucking. Wall. Lurching towards me. Ready to kill me. And all I feel is fear, and panic, and anger, and shame. I mean really, how stupid can I be? I'm afraid of a wall. A wall. A fucking wall. Actually, I dropped a box on my foot last week and had a panic attack. What about you, how's your day going?' What could I have said? _What was there to say_?"

George was astonished to see a single angry tear streaming down Fred's cheek. He made a disgusted sound and wiped it away, and slammed his hand back down on the mattress. George was immediately reminded of the night before when he had dropped a pile of books behind Fred to wake him from his slumber, the way they had made the floor shake, the surprise and the fear that had attacked his twin's facial features and George hadn't fully understood. The guilt twisted inside of him like a knife.

"Even if you had said those things…all of those things…I would have been there for you. I could have helped you."

Fred let out a single sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. "When was the last time I asked for help?"

"You don't. You never have. That's kind of the point, isn't it? It's about time you started."

It was silent between them for a couple minutes, until it came to George exactly how he could start helping his twin heal. Fred needed to feel like people trusted his judgment; he had made that abundantly clear.

"Fred…this whole thing with Ava…I should've had your back. You're feeling strongly about it and I've been shutting you down this entire time. I'm sorry, okay? Look at me."

Fred avoided his eyes for another moment, staring at his mattress, until he reluctantly raised his view to George's face. George noticed his brother's eyes were shining and bloodshot as more tears bit at them and Fred determinedly held them back. Even in this moment, he was still trying to be strong. They were completely alike in that way, George had done this himself that first night Fred lay in the hospital after the battle and he had observed his twin's injuries, somehow managing to hold himself together when all he really felt like doing was falling apart.

"I trust you. You hear me? I trust you. And I'm with you. Whatever you want to do with this…I'm with you."

Their identical brown eyes stayed locked on one another for a minute, mirror images of one another in every way but in that moment, no ways at all: Fred's face tight with pain and shame and George's, twisted with resolute guilt and simultaneous determination.

Fred finally nodded. "Okay."

George stared at him for a moment longer, and nodded back. He gently smiled and lay back down.

"Goodnight Fred."

Fred stared out into the empty space where George's face had just been before taking a deep breath and laying down as well. A sudden tiredness washed over him, and his thoughts were finally quiet.

"Goodnight George."

000000

In the morning, Fred awoke early, his eyes snapping open suddenly as though his body had set an internal alarm. He got dressed quickly and silently, letting George sleep as he quietly slipped out of their old room and closed the door behind him.

He went downstairs to the kitchen and saw exactly who he had been hoping to see: his mother. She stood at the countertop, her back facing Fred and her hands working on something. He smiled to himself and tip-toed close to her until he stood directly behind her.

He wrapped his arms gently around her upper chest, resting on her collarbones, and bent at the waist, craning his neck all the way down until it rested on her right shoulder. "Hey Mum."

She smiled and paused her work for a moment, her hands submerged in dough and forearms dusted with flour, keeping her gaze straight ahead. "Good morning, Fred. This is Fred, right? It would be horribly embarrassing if I were wrong. And I call myself your mother…"

Fred laughed, genuinely entertained by her reference to his and George's old teasing. "Yes, it's me." He straightened up and pulled his arms back to rest on her shoulders as he gave her a kiss on the top of her head, and stepped around to his mother's side, leaning his hip on the counter and crossing his arms.

She stared at him, still smiling and with her eyebrows raised. "Well if you're here to keep me a bit of company you may as well help some, too. Fetch me the cranberries dear, I'm making scones."

Fred smiled. "Fair enough," he said, and handed her the bag of fruit, rolling up the sleeves of his zip-up sweater and grabbing a pile of dough to start kneading himself. They stood in a comfortable silence for a minute as Fred sprinkled extra flour on his and his mother's workspace.

"George told me you were upset after I left last night. I'm sorry, Mum. Please don't disown me." He glanced sideways at his mother, smiling widely with his lips closed in a teasing smirk.

She smiled back but avoided his gaze, keeping her eyes fixed on the dough between her fingers. "I wasn't upset, dear."

"Oh? Do you often cry late at night for no reason?"

His mother finally raised her head to look at him, her jaw dropped open in mock outrage but her eyes dancing with oncoming laughter. To Fred's surprise, she pinched some flour between her fingertips and pelted him right in the face. He kept his flour covered face frozen for a moment, eyes shut tightly as he heard his mother uncontrollably giggling. She placed a wet rag in his hand and he raised it to his face, mopping it around for a moment before joining her in laughter and nodding.

"Okay, okay, I suppose I deserved that then. Well played." He tossed the rag into the sink and they both resumed kneading the scone dough, mixing cranberries throughout.

"Well, yes, I admit it. I was upset, but not _at _you, Fred. Just at the thought of everything you had said. The pain you were in, the way you see yourself as damaged. It hurts a mother's heart to hear."

Fred nodded silently as he began placing lumps of dough on the baking pan, and his mother paused her work and looked at him. "Do you…would you…what if you moved back home, dear? Not forever of course. Just for a little while, until everything is a little more…sorted out."

Fred raised his eyebrows. "You want me home for my baking skills, don't you? You don't have to admit it, I know it's the truth," he said, winking and gesturing to the pan. His lumps of scone dough were uneven and wilted looking, while his mother's were plump, uniform, and proud.

His mother laughed and he grinned, his heart swelling with accomplishment at her happiness. "Really though Mum, as tempting as it is to think that I'll have someone cooking my meals and washing my underwear again, I'll pass. Thanks for the offer though."

They fell back into their comfortable silence, finishing filling the pan with rows of dough and sliding it into the oven. His mother sighed and leaned her back against the counter.

"I'm worried about you, Fred. There, I said it."

Fred settled beside her, leaning and crossing his arms again. "George is worried about me as well. I worry about myself sometimes, too." His mother looked up at him, eyes beginning to shine. "Don't start crying again," he warned in a mock stern voice. She laughed and dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her apron.

"I said this to George last night, and I'm going to say it to you too. I want to do this, I want to help her. It just feels good that someone is relying on me. Really good. She hasn't admitted that she needs my help just yet but I know she does. She's someone who doesn't know what I've been through, someone who I'm starting with fresh, that I can prove myself to. And I'm begging you, and the rest of the Order, to let me handle this. Let her be my charge. I need to do this, Mum."

She watched him as he spoke, studying his face, and placed a hand on his cheek when he finished. "If you're asking for my trust, you have it. All of it. I'm sorry I couldn't give that to you before. Everyone should have listened. And I'm sorry for treating you like a child."

Fred reached up and patted his mother's hand. "That's alright. You're my mother. It's your job."

They cleaned up their workspace until a timer pinged and they pulled the scones out of the hot oven. They both turned their heads to look at the stairs as they heard a creaking of someone heading down.

"Ron probably smells food," she said, playfully smirking and wiping her hands on the rag.

Fred shook his head. "It's George's steps."

Sure enough, his twin emerged from around the corner, his mouth open wide mid-yawn, a canvas cross-body bag hanging around his chest and settled on his hip and his arms above his head in a stretch. His hands pushed against the ceiling.

Their mother 'tsk'ed. "When did you boys get so _tall?" _she teased, shaking her head and placing her mixing bowl in the sink.

George grinned over at Fred and Fred winked. Their silent exchange was confirming to one another that all was good in the Weasley household once more, and their mother was in good spirits.

"Well I hate to interrupt your family baking time Fred but I think we should get a move on," said George, settling in a chair to tie his shoes.

Their mother turned around, brows furrowed. "To the hospital already? It's barely eight o'clock."

Fred nodded at his twin. "Right Mum, but Ava already seems a bit…spooked. I don't want her thinking we're not showing up and having her make a run for it."

She sighed and took a fresh towel out of a drawer and dropped four scones into it. "At least take some breakfast with you," she said, holding it out to Fred. George stepped in front of Fred and swiped the makeshift sack away from him.

"Only if you gave us the ones that _he_ didn't touch," George said, jabbing his head towards Fred and grinning.

"_Oh, boys_," muttered Molly, wiping her hands on her apron and walking away.

George winked and gently jabbed his elbow on to Fred's arm. They headed over to the fireplace, the Floo powder in its rightful spot on a small shelf beside the mantle. They each took a handful and threw the powder into the fire simultaneously, which roared to life in sparkling emerald flames.

"Ready Fred?"

"Ready George."

They linked arms, nodded once to one another, and hopped into the fire together.

000000

St. Mungo's was fairly busier than normal, the waiting room and halls bustling with crowds of people no doubt coming to visit loved ones on a Sunday. Fred and George made their way towards the Admissions desk near the front entranceway, politely squeezing around and nudging people out of their way.

"Oh bloody hell," said Fred, suddenly stopping in his tracks.

George stopped alongside him. "What is it?"

Fred rolled his eyes, vaguely gesturing towards the desk. "It's this git. Me and him already had a bit of a moment yesterday. He's a right asshole."

George noticed the man, balding and wearing thick eyeglasses, sitting behind the desk, scribbling away on a piece of parchment. He raised his eyebrows at Fred. "Good thing we're bigger assholes."

They smirked at one another and approached the desk. The man ignored them for a moment and then finally looked up, squinting through his glasses. His face fell.

"Oh. It's you," he said, staring at Fred. His glance moved sideways and he noticed George, jumping slightly in his seat. He groaned. "There's two of you?"

"Actually there's twelve," Fred said lightly, studying his fingernails. "But it's just me and him today."

The man looked back and forth between them, clearly unsure of whether or not Fred had been kidding.

"We're here for the girl," Fred continued. "We're going in there, whether you like it or not. She's asked us."

The man held up his hand to silence Fred, and pulled a clipboard bursting with messy parchment off a shelf behind the desk. "Actually, she gave a note to the Healer for me this morning." He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

"If a tall bloke with blinding red hair and a cocky, smartass attitude comes to see me," he read aloud from the clipboard, and paused, looking up at Fred with a look of disgust before continuing. "Let him."

Fred felt the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting a grin as the man rolled his eyes and spun his back to the twins, placing the board back on the shelf.

"I thought she knew your name?" George whispered.

Fred let himself smile and laugh softly. "She does," he whispered back.

"Hm," George said, tilting his head from side to side in consideration. "So she has a sense of humor, eh? We might get on better than I thought."

The man turned back around just as the twins began walking past the desk, heading for the corridor.

"Oh, no. No, no, no," he exclaimed, waving his arms and scurrying hurriedly around the desk to step in front of them, his arms held out to the sides dramatically as though he were crucified.

"What now? We have permission; we're going in," said George.

"I don't think so," the man replied. He pointed at Fred. "Only _he's_ allowed in. She didn't say anything about you."

"Not true mate," said George. "What was her checklist? Ah, yes. Blinding red hair?"

Fred reached over and rubbed his hand on his twin's head. "Check."

"Tall?" continued George. He and Fred looked each other up and down, pretending to marvel at their identical heights.

"Check," said Fred, nodding enthusiastically.

"What was that last thing? A cocky, smartass attitude?"

Fred and George looked at one another, and then stared back at the man, identical grins plastered across their faces.

"Check," they said together.

The man stared blankly for a moment before exaggeratedly rolling his eyes and throwing his hands in the air.

"Oh, just do what you want," he said, stomping down the opposite hallway. He mumbled under his breath something about deserving a raise.

The twins paused a moment before shaking each other's hands, strongly and business-like.

"Well done George, really, I mean what a performance."

"No, no, no, that was all you Fred, marvelous, simply marvelous."

"Bravo, bravo."

"One for the books."

They walked together down the hallway until they reached Ava's room. The door was closed; Fred knocked firmly with no answer. George shrugged, reached forward for the handle and pushed the door open, only slightly, wide enough for them to slide in one by one and close the door behind them.

Ava stood near the foot of the bed, head tilted down and her curtain of long blonde hair obscuring her face, hurriedly tying a dark blue bathrobe embroidered with the St. Mungo's emblem on the chest. She jumped at the sound of the door closing and looked up. Fred noticed dark purple bruising and swelling around both of her eyes that hadn't blossomed yet last night when he first talked to her. He also took notice of a ragged, raised pink scar across the front of her throat that appeared to be old. He hadn't seen that either, as she had been lying on her chest in the hospital bed. In fact, she was more injured than he had initially taken notice of: all of her knuckles appeared shredded and scabbed, and her exposed knees and shins were patterned in bruises, some old and green and some fresh and violet. He gulped, remembering how fresh and healthy she had appeared to him in his dream.

The three of them stood in silence for a moment, all exchanging glances, before Ava finally spoke.

"You came," she said rather hoarsely, looking at Fred.

"Well…you asked me to," he replied.

They stood there in silence again.

"And I'm here for moral support," George announced, clapping Fred on the shoulder. "The name's George. We both came for you in that alley, actually, I dunno if you actually noticed there were two of us or if you just thought you were seeing double—"

"I noticed," she said, nodding. She appeared to be restless, fiddling with the knot around her waist and tying another one.

"So you did actually, erm…come to me in my dream, right? I didn't imagine that? Because that would be embarrassing," Fred said, laughing nervously.

"No, you didn't imagine it," she said. She looked back and forth between Fred and George again.

"How did you—" Fred started, but was interrupted by the loud slam of a door coming from what sounded like directly across the hall. Both he and Ava jumped in surprise, her more dramatically, nearly flinching. They stared at one another for a moment.

"Excuse my brother, he doesn't like loud noises nowadays, bless his heart," said George, laughing loudly and fakely in an attempt to break the awkward tension.

Fred joined in on the laughter sarcastically but couldn't help but notice Ava as she didn't even smile. She just kept fidgeting, shifting her feet back and forth, and looking around the room. With a sinking feeling of realization, Fred fully took in the fact that the happy, dancing girl she had been in his dream was gone. She had been replaced by what reminded him strongly of a lone deer in a dark forest—doing what she needed to do to survive, but jumping in fright at every crack of a twig or hoot of an owl…terrified of the inevitable hunt, where she'll have to bound through the woods, running for her life.

Ava folded her arms across her chest tightly, then unfolded them immediately. She held out her right arm.

"Can I have your hand?" she asked George, an impatient tone to her voice.

George looked over to Fred with a questioning glance, who shrugged. "Do it," Fred encouraged.

Somewhat reluctantly, George held out his hand. Ava reached forward more until she took it, wrapping her fingers around George's hand the same way she had to Fred's. Her eyes met his and Fred could see her stare locking on to his twin's eyes intensely.

"Hey," George said suddenly, his arm twitching.

Fred realized George must have felt the same small shock in his palm that he had felt the night before, the first time he and Ava had spoken. He also recognized a rather nasty feeling stirring in his stomach—jealousy. He felt quite disgusted with himself for a moment, questioning himself silently as to what possessed him to think he was the only lucky recipient of a special hand-hold.

"What was that for?" asked George, grimacing and rubbing his hand.

Ava folded her arms across her chest again and looked over her shoulder out the window before turning back and answering. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure I could trust you. I already thought I could, I just…needed to make sure."

"Hey, yeah," said Fred, straightening up. "You told me in my dream you had to 'read my Intent'? That's what you just did there too, wasn't it? What do you mean by that?"

She started fidgeting again. "I wanted to make sure I could trust him," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"Yeah, you already said that, but—"

"Alright, relax," George said. "Give the poor bird a minute." He looked over to Ava, grinning. "Please excuse my brother. He IS a cocky bloke with a smartass attitude, after all." He winked, and she finally smiled. Fred felt jealousy stab at his gut again, remembering his dream; their moment in the meadow when she had stepped close, very close, and he had leaned down to talk, his lips coming close to nearly touching her hair, and she had been breathing rapidly, nervously, her chest rising and falling quickly and the soft crest of her breasts straining against the cups of her white sundress—

George suddenly began snapping his fingers in Fred's face and Fred jumped back to reality. Ava was peering at him curiously.

"Are you…okay?" she asked.

He cleared his throat and shook his head a little. "No. I mean yes! I'm fine. I'm fine. Erm, where were we? Anyway," he cleared his throat again, and George's eyes bulged, staring at him incredulously. "So we reckoned you need some protection from that rat looking fellow," he finished pathetically.

Ava raised and lowered her shoulders very slowly. "I do, but…" she trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip.

"But what?" Fred pressed.

"I don't want to just toss something in your lap that you can't handle," she said rather quietly. "I don't want anyone getting hurt."

Fred and George exchanged looks and burst out into chuckles of laughter simultaneously.

"No offense," George said, "But you have absolutely no idea what we've had to face, and what we've defeated before. You might be surprised."

"Right," said Ava. "Obviously you're brave, I get that, but it's nothing like—"

She was interrupted by the door swinging open widely, Fred and George danced out of the way and a Healer burst in. She had a young face with plump cherub cheeks and light brown hair pulled down into pigtails. A look of surprise was on her face as she looked back and forth between Fred and George, and then back to Ava.

"I'm so sorry Meredith, I didn't know you were expecting visitors!" she exclaimed. She turned her back to pull a cart through the doorway.

'_Meredith?_' Fred mouthed to Ava, staring at her expectantly. She stared back, her mouth twitching, fighting a smile.

The Healer pulled the cart through and closed the door. "Well hello then," she said, looking at the twins. "I'm Healer Lily."

"It's very nice to meet you," said Fred. "We're cousins of Meredith's." He extended his hand and shook Lily's vigorously. "Gred," he introduced himself.

"Forge," said George, pumping her hand as well.

"Good to meet you both. Meredith, I brought all of your take-home medical supplies here, I'm going to give you some aftercare instructions. Can I see your back one last time?"

"Why are we all giving fake names?" George hissed in Fred's ear.

"No idea, just go with it," he whispered back.

Ava glanced at Fred once more before turning her back to him and George. She reached around her and pulled all of her hair around to one side, letting it spill on to her chest and exposing the large lettered tattoo on the back of her neck. Fred could see her arms moving as she untied the multiple knots from her bathrobe. Then, she very slowly let it slide down her back until she rested it around her hips. Lily leaned forward to look and touch and partially obscured Ava from view, but not before Fred had seen her naked back: it was already astonishingly healed, the burn wounds closed and the skin sealed but very heavily scarred. The texture from her shoulders to her lower back reminded Fred of the surface of a lake in which the water was rippling in a strong breeze.

Ava had been looking down with her chin to her chest as Lily was examining her, but she turned her head, slowly and little by little as though she wasn't 100% certain if she wanted to do so, until her chin rested on her right shoulder. Her gaze was on the ground, but traveled over to Fred's feet, and slowly made their way up his body until her eyes met his.

Fred felt a jump in his stomach—those damned butterflies again—as he took in the true intimacy of the moment: Ava had been attacked and nearly died. Fred had carried her himself to St. Mungos. He had gone to see her and watched her cry, seen the empty hopelessness in her eyes as she wished for death. He had gone to sleep and she had chosen to visit him, how, he didn't know—but she had chosen _him_, and felt so safe, _so free_, that she had danced around in the grass. She had trusted him with her real name while she gave a fake one to others. And here she stood, so incredibly vulnerable; half naked and covered in scars, looking over her shoulder and making eye contact with him. The fear still remained in her greyish green, heavily bruised eyes, but she didn't avert them. She stayed locked on to Fred, sharing every bit of that fear with him. She was terrified and brave, unsure and trusting, exposed but sheltered…all at once.

The flutter in his stomach felt like it traveled up the center of his chest and landed right on his heart. He physically flinched, just slightly, at the sensation.

The wall.

The wall at Hogwarts, coming down on him, death's calling.

The wall around his heart, dense bricks stacked on one another, one for every piece of rubble that had piled upon him.

That flutter, that flinch.

His hand traveled to his chest, resting it over his sternum.

He had felt something. _Really_ felt something.

The wall, four years unmoving and cold, had lost a single brick. It had come tumbling down, and stayed down, even when Ava broke her gaze from Fred and turned back to look at the window.

"Okay, we're finished!" Lily exclaimed. Fred jumped slightly at her voice, reality crashing back around him. He lowered his hand back down to his side.

Ava hurriedly pulled the robe back up and tied the knots around her waist once more before turning around.

"Not to worry now, don't look so grim, those scars will be gone forever in just a few more days of treatment! Are you sure you don't want to stay for the duration of your healing?" Lily asked, her face full of concern.

Ava gave a small smile that didn't meet her eyes. "That won't be necessary," she said, tying another knot to the robe.

"Alright, if you're sure. I just need you to get out your wand then, I'll teach you to enchant the Whirly Puffer," Lily said, pulling open a drawer on the cart and showing Ava the teapot-looking item Fred had seen hovering above her the night before.

A subtle look of panic that Fred picked up on darted across her face, and she looked over to Fred and George, a pleading look in her eyes as she glanced between them.

Fred suddenly burst out laughing, a sheepish look plastered across his face. Both Ava and Lily stared at him in bewildered confusion for a moment before George burst into laughter beside him as well. They turned to face one another, laughing hysterically.

Fred knew that George had absolutely no idea why they were laughing. He had joined in only because Fred was doing it so enthusiastically. He was backing him up, it's just what they did.

"Oh, oh silly us, Forge and I forgot dear cousin Meredith's wand from home," he said to Lily, shrugging.

"Silly, silly, us. So forgetful!" George followed.

"Here," said Fred, pulling out his wand and stepping towards the cart. "Why don't you just show Forge and I for now, and we'll be sure to teach Meredith later?"

George joined him as Lily taught them the enchantment to activate the Whirly Puffer, and showed them how to apply the large napkin-looking thing Fred had seen the night before as well on Ava's back. He glanced up for a moment as Lily excitedly rambled to meet Ava's eyes. She nodded once in a silent thank-you, and Fred returned the gesture.

After what seemed like forever, Lily left, pulling the cart with her, and George dropped all of the medical supplies into his cross-body bag.

"Now what?" asked Ava.

"Now," George said, rummaging in the bag, "you put on these-" he handled her a crumpled pile of clothing Fred recognized as their mothers—"and meet us back out here. We're taking you home. Oh, and take this." He pulled out a thick, dark purple cloak as well. "You seem a bit…um…skittish, and this has got a hood large enough to host the bloody circus, you should certainly be able to hide quite well under there."

She took the clothes and cloak, but rather reluctantly. "Home?" she questioned, looking back and forth between the brothers.

Fred held up his hand in protest. "Look, you don't have to stay, if you don't like. Hell, we can even keep calling you Meredith if you want. But just give us a chance. Give us a chance to prove we can protect you."

She sighed heavily through her nose. "Alright. Alright, I'll come."

George grinned at her, and she smiled back weakly, heading into the small washroom to change and closing the door behind her.

"Prove that we can protect her? We've already done a bit of a piss poor job at that, letting that bloke get her with that acid ball in the alley. What do you suggest we show her, Fred, hmm? Shall we de-gnome the garden? Banish our attic ghoul back into his bloody cobweb ridden wardrobe for a few nights?"

Fred couldn't help but laugh, and George raised his eyebrows. "I was being serious, you know."

Fred nodded. "I know. But I'm not worried. I'm sure she'll figure it out for herself."

Ava emerged from the washroom, their mother's clothes far too large, limp and barely hanging on to her. On her feet were the boots she had been wearing upon admittance to the hospital—boots not unlike their brother Charlie's, laced up just slightly past the ankle, made of a material that reminded the twins of dragon hyde. She swung the purple cloak around her shoulders, slightly wincing in pain, and clasped it, pulling up the large hood to frame her face.

"We'll travel back through the Floo network, the way we came in, it'll take us straight home. We just need to head to the Floo lobby now," said George, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

"Right," said Ava. She had a slightly hesitant look on her face and she glanced back and forth between them again. "I just need to do something first."

"What is it?" asked Fred.

Without replying, Ava suddenly started walking, striding past them quickly and heading out the door and into the hallway. Fred and George exchanged bewildered looks and hurried after her.

She had already nearly made it back up to the front admission desk where Fred could see the balding man and Healer Lily sitting side by side. Lily appeared to be showing the man a list of sorts on a sheet of parchment and he nodded thoughtfully as she spoke. Ava approached the desk, standing before them, and Fred and George caught up to her just in time to hear Lily explaining to Ava that she needed to sign a form consenting to voluntary departure. They stood behind her, slightly off to the side, unsure of what she was doing.

Ava looked over her shoulder at the twins, meeting both of their eyes briefly, before turning back to face the desk. She reached behind her head and pulled her hood down. Then, very slowly, she leaned down until she was bent at the waist; her palms resting flat on the desk top and eye level with Lily and the man. She leaned forward, almost threateningly. Fred noticed the eye contact she made with the man first, and then Lily, and went back and forth between them a couple times.

"I don't need to sign anything," she said, very softly.

"What—" the man began, but then suddenly fell silent, as though his voice had been taken away. His mouth dropped open and he was mindlessly gaping at Ava. Lily was doing the same, her jaw slack, her eyes glazed over.

"I don't need to sign anything," Ava continued, "because I was never here."

Fred watched, bewildered, realizing he was holding his breath. He took a quick look at George, who was doing the same.

"Never?" Lily asked, her head cocking to one side.

Ava nodded, and leaned in closer. "That's right. Never. In fact," she said, slowly straightening up, the man and Lily's gazes staying unbroken from her, "you've never seen me before in your lives. Or my cousins. You have never seen us before. In…your…lives."

"We've never seen you before," repeated the man.

"In our lives," said Lily. Their voices were oddly robotic and monotone, and their eyes still didn't blink.

"Bloody _fucking_ hell," George breathed.

"That's right," Ava repeated. "Never." She then nodded slowly, and both Lily and the man mirrored her movements exactly, their heads bobbing in rhythm with hers.

She stared at them both in the eyes for just a moment longer, before reaching behind her and pulling up the hood of the cloak again. She whirled around, her gaze resting immediately on Fred and George. "Let's go," she said softly, and took off walking again down the corridor to the right, where a large sign that read 'Floo Lobby' was hanging.

Fred felt as though his feet were glued to the floor, and upon looking over at George, observed the same. They remained stiffly in place, both in shock, staring at the two behind the desk who were still sitting there with their mouths gaping open and eyes staring emptily.

Suddenly, both Lily and the man jumped a bit, as though they had been awoken from a nap. Lily stood, slightly unsteady on her feet before regaining her balance and walking away, still appearing dazed. The man sat up, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses. He looked around him, a pleasant look upon his face, and saw Fred and George.

"Hello there. How may I help you boys?" he asked, smiling widely.

Fred reached beside him, fumbling for George's forearm and grasped it firmly. He began backing away slowly down the hall Ava had disappeared through, pulling his twin along with him, who stumbled a bit.

The man squinted. "Say now…have we met before?"

Fred gulped. "We've got to go," he said under his breath, tugging on George's arm. "Now!"

George seemingly snapped out of his shock and visibly gulped as well, nodding at Fred. They took off in a sprint down the hall towards the Floo Lobby.

Before they turned the corner, Fred shot one last glance over his shoulder. The man was grinning widely and waving goodbye enthusiastically.

"Have a nice day!" he called out to them.


	9. Chapter 9--Safe

**Chapter 9—Safe**

"This…does not look like the home of a madman…who hunts down girls…in alleyways."

Ron spoke comically slowly; his face screwed up tightly, wrinkling in a mix of doubt and bafflement as he, Harry, and Kingsley stood before a charming cottage in Cork, Ireland.

"No. No, it doesn't," agreed Harry, shaking his head, confusion pulling at his features as well.

The home was light blue and adorned with all sorts of cheery accents—glossy white shutters with matching window boxes, each bursting with ivy. Coming out of the corner of the round-shingled roof was a stone chimney with a thin wisp of smoke rising from it, and wrapped around the ground floor was a porch where two wicker rocking chairs sat upon. Harry could see a vegetable patch around the side of the house where a crooked scarecrow adorned in a top hat kept watch. The front garden was bordered by a white fence and a perfectly straight pathway made of hand-laid brick was set out before them, leading to the front door.

The three of them had been lead here after using the Wand Tracer, a one-of-a-kind object invented by the now-deceased wand maker Garrick Ollivander himself. Ollivander had been progressing in age and, upon realizing his life was slipping out of his hands, got his affairs in order in a timely manner before he passed—affairs which included entrusting all of his shop's records to the Auror Department.

However, there was one thing that even the best kept records could not replicate—Ollivander's famous ability to recognize a wand immediately upon coming in contact with it. Luckily he had realized this, and haunted by visions of a potentially disastrous future with Aurors wasting time endlessly sifting through his records, he had invented the Wand Tracer. It was his last gift to the wizarding world before his departure. The machine had always strongly reminded Harry of a Muggle typewriter and he had found himself wondering if Ollivander had ever seen one, and used it as his inspiration for the device.

Upon their arrival to the Ministry that morning, the three of them had headed straight for the Tracer, Kingsley receiving respectful pleasantries and Harry and Ron ignoring the double takes and looks of bewilderment they received as they passed by their office-mates on a Sunday. Normally they wouldn't dream of stopping by work until their normal Monday schedule began.

But this was different.

This wasn't a random, rogue Death Eater, in the midst of a post-Voldemort psychotic break—they had seen that. This wasn't a slightly mad wizard meddling too deeply and stretching the boundaries of white magic, toeing the line and beginning to scare their loved ones, who had called them in a desperate plea for help—they were used to that.

This had become personal.

Fred and George had, predictably, laughed their injuries off and carried on. They, more so Fred, had expressed concern for the hospitalized girl, the initial victim, but more or less none for themselves. That was just Fred and George.

They were used to that as well.

But what had scared them, and the rest of the Order, was the ominous, looming possibility of more trouble to come. In a little over a week it would be officially four years since the Battle of Hogwarts—four years of being spoiled, feeling at peace, living without the ever-present threat of having to look over their shoulders that had haunted them for so long.

Four years that had made them too comfortable, apparently—they were now reeking with paranoia; burdened with a sense of foreboding. Fred had told them the girl in the hospital warned them the dark wizard would never forget what they'd done, how they'd meddled in his attack. His fallen wand rested inside Harry's cloak pocket, and he had been relieved to remove it to let the Tracer do its job—he had started to feel the sudden urge to claw it out, throw it away from him, and banish the reminder of more potential pain and struggle.

After placing the wand inside the machine, the scroll shaped mechanism at the top shook slightly as a bit of parchment was fed into it, and spun wildly for a second before spitting it back out. Kingsley had reached forward and caught it as it fluttered in mid-air, new ink shining upon it.

He held it away from his face and squinted slightly as he read out loud. "Rosewood with a Thestral tail hair core. Eight and a half inches. Distributed in the year 1992 to a—"

"Ryan Loxwood, family residing in Cork, Ireland" Ron interjected, finishing reading the parchment over Kingsley's shoulder. His face pulled together in concentration. "Ryan Loxwood, eh? Doesn't ring a bell from Hogwarts, does it Harry? What about you, Kingsley, recognize the bloke's name?"

Kingsley had squinted, considering for a moment, but shook his head. "No, unfortunately, I do not."

Harry had looked between the both of them. "What do you reckon we should do next? Should we contact Hogwarts and have them look through the archives, bring Fred and George along for a positive I.D.?"

"That would be the proper protocol, yes, but I'm not sure we have the time to spare that will take for the tasks required. Part of me is thinking we should just…go," was Kingsley's answer. He'd then nodded confidently, strong in his decision. "He knows his wand's been won, he must know we have ways of tracing it. I'm not sure there's any time to waste."

And so time was not wasted, and here they stood in cloudy Ireland, looking upon the lovely, inviting home of an apparent madman. Who enjoyed gardening. And wicker furniture.

"If you two have learned anything, it's that dark magic lies. And it lies well. Quite well. Ready? Wands up—and, scan," said Kingsley.

The three of them held their wands before them, gracefully swishing them back and forth in the air above the picketed fence. Harry and Ron exchanged glances, shrugged together, and split up to take different sections of the property. Kingsley already stood at the far corner of the garden, muttering to himself and brandishing his wand rather aggressively. Harry silently copied him and took the same brisk approach, following proper protocol to check for curses and enchantments.

"I don't think there's anything here, Kingsley," Ron called out.

Kingsley nodded and came back to meet them at the brick pathway. "I don't sense anything either. Let's approach the door, then, keep your wands out."

He led the way, his yellow and green patterned robes billowing out behind him. As they made their way up the path Harry saw movement in one of the front windows—the flutter of a curtain, as though someone had been watching them.

Kingsley gave a few smart knocks to the door with his free hand, and almost instantly, it swung open. A woman looking to be just slightly younger than Molly Weasley answered, her brown hair pulled into a rather messy low ponytail, her body adorned with a black dress and black stockings. Her face was swollen and red, and Harry took notice of a crumpled tissue in one of her fists.

Her lips parted in surprise. "Minister," she said in a thick Irish accent, bowing her head down in respect and raising it back up slowly. She looked over his shoulder to take notice of Ron and Harry, her eyes hovering on their matching brown trench coats for a moment before peering back at Kingsley. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Kingsley slowly but cautiously lowered his wand, and Harry and Ron followed suit.

"We're here for information regarding Ryan Loxwood," he said.

She stared at the three of them for a moment before nodding silently and stepping backward, pulling the door open widely. "Please come in."

They all nodded in thanks and made their way inside the cottage, which was just as charming on the inside as it was on the outside. Nearly everything was made out of wood or stone and was adorned with doilies or decorative pieces of some kind, and a small fire crackled in the sitting area to their left. Harry heard voices down the hall leading out from the foyer, which immediately ceased as the door closed behind them. The woman hurried down that way, sticking her head around the corner.

"The Minister of Magic is here!" he heard her hiss. "Yes, really. I'm not joking! Just bring some tea. And maybe some of those biscuits, yeah, the lemon ones, that's the ticket…"

The three of them shifted their feet uncomfortably, frozen awkwardly in the overly decorated foyer. Ron jumped in surprise as a cuckoo clock behind him erupted into calling for the new hour.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, shooting the clock a dirty look over his shoulder.

"No need to fuss over us, Madam," Kingsley called out to her. "Really…we're on official business."

The woman whirled back around, emerging with a tray of cookies. She hurried over, stepping around them and ushering them into the sitting room. "Please sit down, sit down," she urged, setting the tray down on a polished table.

Kingsley, Harry, and Ron looked back and forth at one another briefly before settling down beside one another on the velvet magenta loveseat. A stuffed bear positioned to sit upright on the edge of the back piece brushed Ron's ear, and he flinched again, jumping forward and sitting on the edge of his seat.

The woman settled in a chair across from them. "Is this…about the investigation?" she asked. Her fist clutched tighter to the already crumpled tissue, her knuckles turning white.

"It is our…private investigation," replied Kingsley, his face expressionless.

"Private?" she asked, slightly frowning.

Kingsley looked across to Harry, and then to Ron before answering. "Has anyone _else_ been here yet? About Ryan?"

The woman sighed. "No," she said, and began nervously fiddling with the pathetic tissue on her lap. "No but truthfully, Minister, if I may be frank, I was expecting someone sooner."

It took a moment, but everyone soon realized they were all quite confused with one another. Harry and Ron stared at each other, then back at the woman, and Kingsley leaned forward towards her, resting his elbows on his knees.

The woman touched a slightly quivering hand to her chest. "I'm Connie, Connie Loxwood…Ryan is…was…my daughter."

"Ah," said Kingsley, leaning back in his seat. "I understand."

Ron gestured at the mantle, where Harry noticed framed family photographs all shrouded in translucent black scarves. "So there's…been a death in the family?" Ron asked in a small voice.

Connie gave a single tight nod. "Ryan's funeral is today." Her eyes scanned the three of them rapidly. "Isn't…isn't that what this is about? Her murder investigation?"

"It wasn't," Kingsley said, folding his hands across his lap. "But now it is. Madam Loxwood…I know this must be so hard for you…but would you mind telling us what happened to Ryan?"

Connie stared at him for a moment before rising to her feet, and walking over to the fireplace, her back to them. She reached up to the mantle and pulled a scarf off one of the pictures. It showed Connie, with her arm wrapped tightly around a girl's shoulders, no older than Ginny. The wind was blowing in wild gusts and the two of them laughed together, Connie reaching up to hold on to her hat and the girl, Harry assumed to be Ryan, throwing her head back in a fit of giggles as her rib length corkscrew curls became a frizzy mess as they whipped about, obscuring her face and tickling her mother's cheek. They looked happy.

"Ryan's been gone for a week," Connie said, her voice cracking at the word _gone_. She sighed heavily and turned to face them, but kept her eyes on the ground. "She was murdered last week while visiting family in Dublin."

Harry's heart sank as he realized what they'd done: assumed a wand, stolen from a dead girl, belonged to the vicious man Fred and George had met in battle. He watched Connie pat her eyes with her crumpled tissue and desperately wished he had a fresh one to give to her.

"Murdered? Did she have any enemies?" Harry asked softly.

Another woman strode into the room, presumably Connie's sister as they looked so much alike. She carried a second tray, this one laden with an ornate blue and white teapot and matching cups. She peered over at the three of them curiously as she set it down, poured tea, and handed them each a cup. They accepted graciously and she stepped back, standing beside Connie's chair, her hand resting on her sister's shoulder.

"No, goodness, no," said Connie, cautiously taking a sip of tea before continuing. "She was very much a quiet girl, reserved, very shy. Maybe she didn't have a lot of friends, but…she didn't have enemies, either." Connie started chewing on her lip and Harry saw her eyes fill with moisture again. "This is…very hard to speak of," she said in a small voice, nearly whispering. "But you should know…Ryan…was killed rather…viciously." Her free hand fluttered to her throat and rested there.

"In the Muggle way?" asked Kingsley.

Connie nodded rapidly before suddenly bursting into tears, setting her teacup down to bury her face in her hands as she sobbed. Her sister swooped down and perched on the armrest, wrapping her arm around Connie's shoulders tightly. She peered up at them as she comforted Connie.

"Ryan's throat," she hissed, her eyes ablaze with anger, "was sliced so deeply, the vertebrate of her neck was scratched by the knife. Disgusting, isn't it? The wound couldn't even be healed for cosmetic's sake, since she was already passed. _We're burying her today in a Godamn scarf_!"

Harry heard Ron audibly gulp beside him, and Harry fought the urge to do the same. Kingsley remained stony faced beside them.

"I take it you don't know the whereabouts of Ryan's wand?" he asked, twiddling his thumbs gently.

Connie wiped her eyes and sat up straight, her face even more red and swollen than before. "No, Minister, but I wish we did. I wish more than anything. The least we can do is give my daughter a proper witches' burial with her wand. With dignity."

Kingsley cleared his throat and leaned forward again, reaching inside his robes. "Madam Loxwood…I am able to grant that wish for you today." He extracted Ryan's wand and placed it gently on the table, beside the tray of cookies.

Both Connie and her sister let out strangled, wordless cries of joy, and hugged one another tightly, sobbing. A small crowd of about a dozen people suddenly burst into the room, their faces full of concern as they observed the scene before them.

"Oh everyone, come and see! The Minister of Magic has brought us Ryan's wand!" Connie exclaimed, reaching forward and brandishing it for all the family to see. They all erupted in similar outbursts of jubilance, grasping one another for hugs, happy tears rolling down their cheeks.

"Oh, Minister, bless your heart, bless you! My granddaughter's wand!" an elderly woman exclaimed, stomping her slipper-clad feet and shaking her fist in the air victoriously.

Connie held the wand tightly against her chest with both hands. "Minister…tell us…how did you come to find it?"

Her eyes were excited, and Harry braced himself for the bad news Kingsley was about to reveal to her.

"Your daughter's wand," he began slowly, "was won from a dark wizard, by one of our…agents. During a duel."

Connie seemed speechless, her jaw dropping open in surprise and staring at her sister in bewilderment before addressing Kingsley. "He was…he was using Ryan's wand?"

Kingsley nodded. "Yes."

A man stepped forward from the familial group, coming to stand on Connie's other side and resting his hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair. "You mean to tell me…my daughter…_was nearly beheaded…so some animal could steal her wand?" _

They were all silent; even Kingsley didn't have an answer ready for them.

"Erm…were there any other apparent motives? Anything else stolen from her?" Harry asked nervously.

"No," said Connie, her voice flat and hollow. "No. Even her coin purse was still with her. Nothing else was taken. Nothing."

Ryan's father narrowed his eyes. "Please…I beg of you, I beg of the Ministry…find the monster who did this to my daughter."

Kingsley rose to his feet, and extended his hand to him, who pumped it graciously. Harry did the same, followed by Ron.

"Consider him at the top of our Most Wanted," said Kingsley.

Ryan's father's hand stayed locked on to Ron's, holding it tightly. Tears shone in his eyes behind his glasses.

"Please," he whispered to Ron, squeezing his hand for emphasis. "Please find him."

He released Ron's hand, and Ron puffed his chest proudly. "You can count on it," he replied.

The three of them exited the home, making their way down the brick path and pausing together once outside the white fence.

"Potter, Weasley," Kingsley said in a business-like tone. "I'll need you to issue a high alert, first thing in the morning. Top priority—any witch or wizard murdered, or disappeared, within the last…let's start at six months. With their wands stolen."

"Is being killed in the Muggle way a required trait of the crime?" Ron asked.

Kingsley sighed heavily. "No. But do not be surprised if you find more cases buried in our files, containing _exactly_ that."

"One thing is for sure," said Harry, looking back and forth between Ron and Kingsley. "We need to talk to that girl from the alley, get more information. Fred says she doesn't seem to want to talk, well I don't care. She's going to have to."

Ron and Kingsley both nodded.

"Agreed," said Kingsley.

"Agreed," murmured Ron.

The three Disapparated with a loud collective pop, leaving the cloudy day in Ireland behind.

000000

Immediately upon stumbling through the fireplace into the Burrow's messy sitting room, Fred, George, and Ava were off, pausing for not even a moment.

"What—" Ava began, but Fred wordlessly reached behind him to grab on to her left hand tightly and drag her along with him.

George was in the lead, kicking aside the ottoman and throwing open the side door leading out from the kitchen. He broke out into a sprint and galloped wide strides across the meadow, around the side of the lopsided house, heading towards the woods. He shot a glance over his shoulder as he ran, relieved to see Fred not far at all behind, his arm outstretched behind him as he held on to Ava's and forced her to come along.

"Where are we going?" she cried out in a panicked voice, but both Fred and George ignored her, powering forward and crashing into the forest.

Fred could feel her hand desperately twisting, her arm yanking, trying to break free from his grasp. She was surprisingly strong but Fred's hand was nearly double the size of hers. He crushed it tighter, determined to not let her break away, and curled his arm at the elbow, trying to drag her closer to him as he ran.

"Please stop it, stop it, Fred, you're hurting me, _you're hurting me_!" she screamed, hysteria threaded in her voice.

Fred ducked just in time to avoid a low-hanging tree branch but heard a squeal and a rough crash of leaves and branches from behind him as Ava apparently hit it with full force. George glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with Fred for a brief moment before turning it back and facing forward, his red hair shimmering in and out of the dappled sunlight as his head bobbed in rhythm with his sprint.

"We're almost there, hang on!" George called out.

The three of them leapt over a fallen log and took a right turn, weaving in and out of the trees as the forest became thicker. A group of birds erupted from within a nearby bush, taking flight with panicked coos as they disturbed the previously quiet scene.

"Please…please stop…Fred…I can't…I can't run any longer," Ava cried out breathlessly behind him, wheezing for breath. She gave a hard yank to her hand again and it almost slipped through; Fred applied more pressure in his grip until he felt her fingers folding together slightly.

She whined in pain, and began to cry as she was forced to run behind him. He felt absolutely awful for doing this to her, and failed to shake off a nagging feeling that was telling him he would come to regret this later.

But he wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, couldn't slow down. He and George had breathlessly made a pact as they had sprinted after Ava down the hospital corridor after watching her…hypnotize, stun, they didn't even know what the word was—those people.

"Straight to the tree, you hear me Fred? Straight to that god..damn…tree!"

Fred had jogged alongside his twin, rudely pushing people aside as they made their way to the Floo Lobby. "Straight to the tree," he'd agreed.

And now, he heard her, gasping for breath, letting out whimpering sobs, repeating his name over and over, begging him to please slow down…but he kept his face forward. He reckoned he had never been such an asshole to anyone in his life, never mind a girl, a freshly injured girl that he'd promised to protect, at that.

But he couldn't look at her. He couldn't. That face, the face that had just looked at him over her shoulder mere minutes ago and shattered a thousand of his nightmares, took away a thousand of his fears, crumbled a piece of that wall around his heart, how she had done this, he didn't know—if he looked at her, crying and pleading with him, he knew he'd give in and let go of her hand.

And then what? What if she took off? His mind was racing. What the hell was it that she had done back there, what had she done to those people? He had never witnessed magic anything like that in his life, hadn't even known magic like that existed. Who was she, really? Was she actually the bad one? She cried out again, pleading for him to let go. What if he did let go? What if she took off, ran away? What if she tried to use magic on them? He knew he didn't have the guts to dare take out his wand and use magic on her, but did George?

He considered releasing her for a second, god, what the fuck was he doing?

"We're here!" George cried out, slowing to a jog, holding up his hand and signaling for Fred to do the same. He stopped, panting heavily, his hands resting on his knees. "We're here," he repeated.

As soon as Fred slowed and paused beside his brother, Ava gave her arm one last whip-like thrash, and Fred finally let her go. She stumbled backwards slightly, nearly tripping over her own feet but astonishingly, not running away. Her face was shining with tears and a thin, bloody scratch ran across her cheek, no doubt from the tree branch.

"What the HELL?!" she cried, her voice strangled and hoarse. Fresh tears burst forth from her eyes and spilled on to her face, and Fred noticed she was cradling her left hand, the one he had been using to drag her along. The scabs along her knuckles were ripped open and fresh red blood was blossoming out, smeared all over her fingers.

His stomach dropped as though there were stones inside of it at the realization that he had actually hurt her. He met George's eyes over her shoulder for a second; his face was fallen and clearly uncomfortable, guilt sprawled across his features as his forehead and nose shone with sweat.

"I didn't want…I didn't mean to…" said Fred pathetically. He dropped his gaze to the forest floor and red caught his eye; his right hand was stained with Ava's blood, smeared about from her twisting her hand in efforts to break away.

"Shit," he muttered, and feverishly began rubbing his hand along the side of his pants, furiously trying to rub her blood away. It had already dried and the wiping was no use. He sheepishly looked up at her face again. It was slightly less angry, but heavy with mistrust and skepticism; the way a feral animal observes a human who's offering it food, trying to decide whether or not to bite.

"You know I didn't mean to hurt you," said Fred softly, his voice thick with shame.

She raised and lowered one shoulder, still cradling her hand. "I don't know anything about you, Fred," she replied. Her voice broke and another single tear escaped one of her eyes, rolling down her cheek rapidly and dangling off of her jaw for a moment before dropping and hitting the forest floor.

It was silent for a minute before George cleared his throat. "Ava…we brought you here so you could do something for us…so you could show us something…it'll only take a minute, I promise, and we'll get you all cleaned up right after…"

She turned away from Fred to look at George, wiping her face with her shoulder. "What is it?"

George stepped up to the thick trunk and leaned on it with his shoulder. "We just need you to put your hand against this," he said, leaning his head towards the tree.

"Put my hand…on the tree?" she asked, and looked back over to Fred, who in his shame stayed silent and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Yep," said George, nodding once. "Hand on the tree. That's all we want."

Ava folded her arms. "Why?"

George sighed, tilting his head at the tree again but letting the side of his skull rest against the bark. "You know how you had to grab us by the hand to do whatever you do, to see if you could trust us? Well, this is the same thing."

"With…the tree."

"Yes."

Ava looked back at Fred once more, and then to George, nodding. "Okay. Okay, I'll play your game." She stepped forward, close to the trunk. Fred's feet stayed glued in place but his neck craned to the side, watching Ava's face as she took a deep breath and licked her lips.

His heart hammered in his chest uncomfortably.

This was it.

This was the moment he learned if he could trust not only Ava, this broken, mysterious girl with whom he shared an unexplainable, magnetic connection with, but himself as well…was his intuition still sound? Were his instincts solid? From the beginning, every cell in his body had inexplicably screamed to him to trust Ava. As she raised her hand to the tree, he panicked, not knowing whether or not he was truly ready to face what was ahead, but being forced to watch it unfold before his eyes. He felt both of his hands curl into tight fists.

Five fingers spread, she touched her hand lightly and cautiously to the bark, and then pressed.

Nothing at first. Four seconds passed, feeling like hours. Fred squeezed his eyes shut, envisioning a red outline, Ava's body being flung backwards through the forest, the tree rejecting the dark magic—

"It's green. Fred, it's green."

George's statement broke through the silence and Fred's eyes snapped open.

The outline of Ava's hand glowed a bright emerald green, so bright that it reflected and shimmered on to her face as though she were standing before green stained glass windows with sunshine streaming through.

George erupted into a fit of relieved laughter, high pitched and joyous. "Excellent," he said, clapping his hands together once and vigorously nodding.

Fred released a gust of breath that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, and couldn't stop a grin from breaking through his previous sorrow and embarrassment and spreading across his face.

Ava lowered her hand back to her side and looked back and forth between the twins, confusion written across her face. "What's going on?"

George stepped forward and very lightly touched her on her shoulder. "It means, you strange little bird, that we can trust you. You've still got some explaining to do…but we can trust you." He met eyes with Fred and laughed again to himself, passed Fred his cross-body bag and began walking back the way they came through the woods, back towards the house.

"Wait…where are you going?" called out Fred.

"I'm going to give everyone the news that the tree has spoken," George called over his shoulder, not ceasing his steps. "Go on and take her up. I'll figure out our next move. I'll be back…two shakes of a lamb's tail or something like that." Fred heard him laughing again, and his twin disappeared in the thick of the trees.

Fred and Ava were left alone, and stood in silence for a minute.

"So," Ava said, meeting his eyes and shrugging.

Fred felt his face heating up. "I really am sorry about your hand. Really, I am. I'm awful."

"Atrocious," she replied, nodding sarcastically.

"Absolutely despicable." He couldn't help but smile a little at their banter, relieved beyond words at her forgiveness. He was even more relieved when she smiled in return, and he noticed for the first time one of her teeth far along the back was missing, and a tiny, thin white scar poked out of the corner of her upper lip, lining up with her missing tooth perfectly.

"I'm sorry…about your hand," he repeated.

She shook her head a little. "It'll heal. I know you're sorry. And I know you didn't mean it."

"You do, do you now?"

"Yeah, I do. You weren't trying to hurt me, you just didn't want me making a break for it before you knew if you could trust me or not."

His breath caught in his chest, and he found himself excitedly stepping forward. "You're…you're reading my mind, aren't you? Is that what you do? You read minds?"

She smiled at him again, and Fred recognized it as the same smile she had given him in his dream—like she was up to something, like she knew something he didn't.

"No, I don't read minds. Is there even such a thing? Anyway, it seems like we all have our trust established with one another. What now?" she asked, a single eyebrow raised.

She hadn't fully answered his question, and for just a moment, Fred felt a stab of frustration. Then he realized she _was _actually opening up to him, the way he wanted her to…but in her own way. In her own time. He didn't think she was telling him the whole truth yet, but he wasn't getting the feeling she was lying, either.

His smile was soft, and he took another step, a slower one this time, forward towards Ava. She didn't waver.

"It means," he said softly, almost in a whisper. "You're safe."

He noticed the most minute change in her face as her jaw quivered suddenly and her eyebrows shifted, the know-it-all smirk melting from her features and being replaced slowly with a look of cautious hope.

"Safe?" she replied. She said it in a foreign way, as though she had just learned a word in an exotic language for the first time.

He paused before taking another small step forward, until the tips of their shoes were nearly touching. They were at the same closeness they had been when she had visited him in his dream at the meadow.

"Yeah," he said, and reached down and around until his hand very gently rested on the back of her head. He applied just the slightest touch of pressure, and she willingly crumpled forward, crushing her forehead against his chest. He stayed frozen, not wanting to do anything to scare her, before slowly placing his other hand around on to her mid back. He felt her shoulders spasming, just slightly, and a vague moistness coming through his shirt where her face was. She was crying again, although this time it didn't seem to stem from hopelessness, like in the hospital, and it didn't stem from anger and hurt, like just a little while before as he dragged her running through the woods. The crying seemed as though it was coming from a place of relief. Of solace. She sobbed, but for the first time, Fred saw—and felt—her body being limp, letting herself be completely helpless, that frightened animal-like guard finally being done away with as she leaned her entire body weight on him.

In the couple of minutes that he let her cry into his chest, she was letting herself go. Just letting herself be. Letting herself _feel_. And relying on Fred to protect her while doing so.

He realized it…

She trusted him.

And in those couple of minutes, upon realizing her trust in him, he felt it too, felt just how right he was about what he had said to George in their old bedroom.

She was trusting him, because she was seeing him. Really seeing him.

As a person, and not something haphazardly repaired, ready to break again.

"Yeah, you're safe," he whispered, and pulled her against him in a tighter embrace. He rested his chin down on the top of her head, relaxed, but didn't dare close his eyes. There wasn't anything out here to threaten or harm her.

But he did it, just on principle.

Kept his eyes open.

Kept watch.

Kept her safe.


	10. Chapter 10--Static

**Author's Notes: So, to everyone who is enjoying this story thus far, I have some good news: here's an update for you, and I'll be posting another one in just the next couple of days.**

**Why so soon, you ask?**

**Well, normally, I'd like to wait a little while and tease you, let you sit on the edge of your seat a little.**

**HOWEVER.**

**After Fred and Ava's embrace at the tree at the end of the last chapter, I really, REALLY wanted to elaborate on the connection that they're beginning to build. I was torn-I wanted to feature a huge chunk of Fred/Ava and really just focus on them, but at the same time, I really wanted to progress the story and reveal more about the mysteries going on.**

**I tried to write this chapter SEVERAL times, and kept deleting and re-writing it, trying to make it work-lots of Fred and Ava, but then flashing back to the investigation. And it just wasn't working. It was disjointed, had no flow, and I couldn't find a literary way to justify flashing from two people experiencing this wild connection to more or less of a crime scene investigation. I wasn't happy, so I scrapped it, and decided to break it up into separate chapters.**

**So hopefully you're not disappointed, but I promise you, a chunk of mystery will be revealed very, very soon. Maybe even as soon as tomorrow. I have to see how much time I have to edit the final product until I'm 100% happy with it.**

**Thanks again for reading. Please leave a review!**

**Chapter 10—Static**

Fred felt Ava's eyes on him even while he had his back to her. He looked over his shoulder briefly while he stood at the sink and confirmed his suspicion; there she was, sitting at the middle wooden table where he had left her, her eyes boring into him, puzzlement across her face.

He carefully made his way over to the table while balancing a water-filled copper bowl in each hand. One was topped with a thick layer of soapy froth and the other was clear, and a washcloth hung from between his fingers. He set them on the table top and swung his legs over the long bench, one side of his mouth hitched up in an amused smile.

"Stop staring, would you? I'm flattered that you're so impressed but I told you, I can't jump that high. It's the moss, it's enchanted…"

Ava laughed and Fred grinned. He put his hands, palms up, on the table and wiggled his fingers.

"Give them here."

"What?"

"Your hands."

Ava did the opposite and drew her hands back slightly. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

Fred rolled his eyes exaggeratedly . "Because I want to eat them."

She failed to suppress a laugh, shaking her head at him, but willingly placed her hands in his. He brought them close to his face as though he were studying her injuries, but kept flashing his eyes to her face.

"You wanna know why I was staring?"

"Because I'm devilishly handsome?" Fred answered immediately, squinting at one of her bloody knuckles, the tip of his tongue between his teeth.

"Besides that, obviously." Ava smirked at him, and although he had been the one to initiate the joke, he felt his ears turning red.

"Well," he began, slowly lowering their hands back down to the tabletop together, still joined. "I have roughly one-hundred thousand questions for you, why you were staring wasn't exactly at the top of the list but go on."

She tilted her head from side to side slowly while studying his face for another moment, as though she were struggling to see something at just the right angle. She seemingly gave up and shrugged, then sighed. "I can't…feel you, like I can with everyone else."

"Come again?"

"I'm sure it has an official term in the magical world, it's just what I call it…whenever I'm around someone I can just…kind of…feel them. Know where their heart is in that moment. Tune into what they're feeling, feel right along with it. Sort of tap into their emotions, I guess."

Fred squinted, nodding slowly. "Like an Empath?"

"I guess. "

Fred left one of her hands behind and picked up her right, pulling it over the table towards him and dipping the washcloth in the soapy water. He brought it over to her hand and gently touched it against her first ragged knuckle. She flinched at the touch.

"Sorry," he muttered. He kept his eyes down as he washed her wound, avoiding her gaze.

"It's okay."

A silence passed through them for a moment before she continued. "I just haven't experienced that in…awhile. Usually all I have to do is be in the same room with someone before I start getting assaulted with every one of their feelings…their anger at their boyfriend lingering from an argument the night before, their hunger in their stomach and thoughts of lunch overtaking their brain, the cloudy gooeyness of falling in love…everything. I feel it all. But with you…I get moments, snippets here and there, like when we were going through the woods but mostly…Fred, it's just static."

He finally looked up at her and raised a single eyebrow. "Static?"

"You just feel weirdly stagnant, like a lake that's been frozen over…there's a whole other world under the surface but I can't break through. There's a fuzzyness."

He dipped the rag into the clear water to rinse it, and then back into the soapy water. He touched it to her second knuckle and smiled widely. "I've never been called fuzzy before."

"Fred, I'm being serious."

"So am I."

"Why can't I feel you?"

"Why don't you have a wand?"

He paused his washing of her knuckles to stare at her questioningly and she stared back, the playfulness gone from both of their faces. Their eyes were locked, a challenge for one another to see who would answer the other's question first.

Fred broke first, chuckling and shaking his head, resuming his work on her hand. "Looks like neither of us are quite ready to give all of our secrets away, hmm?"

He gently used the cloth to brush away at a loose flap of skin bordering her knuckle, which instantly gave way and started to bleed again.

"Shit. I'm sorry," he said, holding pressure to the spot fresh blood was sprouting from.

This time she didn't flinch. "It'll heal."

He glanced up at her. "Like that great big scar on your neck? And your black eyes? And the scar on your lip? Not your missing tooth though, I don't think that's going to grow back…"

Ava smiled a little and Fred saw her tongue move inside her mouth to the back of her jaw, feeling the gap. "I always forget that's even there, to be honest."

Fred moved on to her last finger. "So it must've been gone for a while then?"

She nodded, staring off into space, her tongue still puckering against the inside of her cheek. "Yeah, yeah a little while."

Fred waved his wand and conjured a roll of soft white bandage, which he started gently wrapping around her freshly cleaned knuckles.

"You must think I'm really crazy, huh?" she asked softly.

He finished bandaging her hand, took her other one from the tabletop but paused before beginning to wash it. "Actually, I think you're really scared, so scared that you'd rather let yourself get as hurt as you are than ask for help."

Her brows pulled together. "I get the feeling that you don't like asking for help, either."

Fred grinned while he dipped the cloth in the water again. "More mind reading?"

"A purely intuition based guess, actually."

He sighed, realizing they were going to get absolutely nowhere if they continued this. It was a dance of emotionally circling one another at arm's length; temporarily letting their guards down for precious moments such as their embrace on the ground just minutes earlier, then bringing them back up at full force moments after. In his resolve, he decided to be brutally honest to see where it got him.

"I don't ask for help for two reasons: pride, and shame. Odd hybrid, isn't it? But that's what it is. I'm too prideful, and too ashamed, all at once. Now that's what I call a full range of human emotion, am I right? So what about you, what's your reason? Why don't you ask for help?"

Ava surprised him by actually answering. "Fear," she admitted.

"Yeah, I can tell you have a lot of that," Fred replied, glancing up at her while beginning to wrap her second hand.

She was staring off into space again. "Like I said…you must think I'm really crazy."

"Like_ I_ said…I think you're really scared," Fred repeated back to her.

Ava stayed quiet as he finished wrapping the bandage around her knuckles. When he finished, he began lowering it to place it back on the tabletop, but paused.

"I have a proposition for you," he said.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

He rested the back of his hand down on the wood grain but still held on to hers. "When we were down on the ground back there…you said you didn't know anything about me. We met about 36 hours ago, so that's fair enough. But I have a feeling you COULD know more about me, if you wanted to. With…this thing you do," he said, gesturing with his free hand at the one that still held hers. "And I'm not talking about feeling my current emotions, I know you just said you can't. But you _did_ already determine you could trust me, just by taking my hand, and you paid me a visit in my dream. Those have to count for something, right?"

Ava nodded thoughtfully. "Go on."

"Well, I'll have you know, you're OFFICIALLY my charge now," he said, a smile twitching around his lips.

She smiled back, a single eyebrow raised. "Is that right?"

"That's right. We're going to be spending a lot of time together, you and me, so I think it only makes sense we stop this nonsense and actually get to know one another. So here's my offer—you do what you need to do here—" he paused to very gently squeeze her hand—"on one condition: you tell me EXACTLY what you're doing. No vague bollocks allowed…don't try and tell me you're looking into my dark little soul or something, no. I want to know exactly what you're doing, and how you do it."

She tilted her head from side to side in consideration for a moment. "Okay," she said.

Fred felt his eyebrows travel all the way up his forehead, nearly against his hairline. "'Okay'?"

"Yeah. You're right, let's start trusting each other a little more. So yeah. Okay."

He let out a gust of air, a bewildered look upon his face. "Well then. Wow. Okay. I mean, no offense, I was just expecting you to argue and tapdance around the subject a bit."

Ava grinned at him, a slight mischievous glint in her eye. "I can still do that, if you want. Not the tapdancing part, but the arguing—"

"No. No, no, no. Believe me, I'm very grateful. Have at it, then. Show your stuff."

The grin slowly and gracefully faded from her face, and she inhaled deeply, suddenly serious. She brought her other bandaged hand forward and rested it on top of his, sandwiching it between both of hers. Fred watched her intently, his heart beginning to flutter with nerves, waiting for her to do something sudden, or profound.

But all she did was close her eyes, lick her lips, and began caressing the tops of his fingers with her thumb, slowly, as though she were strumming strings on an instrument. A pleasant warmth spread through his hand and Ava suddenly broke out in a wide smile, genuine and joyous, her violet rimmed eyes remaining closed.

"You're…you're climbing up a tree," she began excitedly. "George is there, and another redheaded boy. Another sibling? George taunts you, challenges you to go higher…you do, and then…you lose your footing. You fall, you feel your arm break, and your mother, I can tell it's your mother, comes rushing over and heals the bone with just a swish of her wand…"

Fred's mouth seemingly instantly drained of all moisture and his tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth as he realized what she had just done: recited back to him his very first clear memory he had of being a young boy.

She continued excitedly, her eyes still shut. "You're pulling your first prank, it's a little stupid, honestly, but you're so,_so_ excited. You hide around a corner and watch an older brother sit down at the table and the chair legs are loosened, they come out from underneath him and you have to sprint away to laugh because it's uncontainable…" Her eyebrows pulled together and her smile faded slightly. "Another brother, he's broken…your broomstick? You're so, so angry. The broomstick suddenly sprouts legs, now it's a disgusting hairy spider and it chases your brother across the entire field you all stand in…now, now you're happy again. You're holding a letter addressed to you, you're standing beside George, he has the same one…you've been…invited somewhere? Your mother is so proud, she wipes tears from her eyes with a little blue handkerchief…"

Fred involuntarily let out a single, soft laugh, and let his hand rest in the both of hers a little firmer as she retold more tales from his childhood, the most memorable moments of his life.

"There are snippets of things here, just bits and pieces, not all of it makes sense…standing inside a joke shop for the first time…the taste of something hot, buttery and sweet, while sitting inside a pub…a name being called out and your heart exploding with joy, what was that? Gryffindor? The taste of a chicken leg, the clank of a glass…"

Fred leaned forward across the table grinning, his heart hammering now. She had just looked back upon his very first trip to Zonko's, his mother had let him and George go in as a treat after finishing their school shopping for their first year at Hogwarts…and then his first taste of butterbeer, then the Sorting ceremony…

"You're holding…a wand…no, no it's not a wand…it's a bat. You whack something with it, and George comes…ah. Flying. The both of you are flying. He comes flying towards you and you high five, a crowd screams your name…you're with George again, peering over…a map? But there are things moving on it, it doesn't make sense…more snippets…you're ducking behind, or into a wall, it's some sort of secret passageway...a chess game, the feeling of a warm fire on your back, snow falling on your face. You're back home…you're leaning over a cauldron with George, something goes wrong, your stomach drops and the both of you go soaring backwards…ouch…your head hurts."

Fred grinned even wider, thinking about the enormous dent that still remained in their old bedroom wall to this day. It was from when he and George first started experimenting and attempting to invent things, locking their door and whispering for hours on end…

"There's…a lot of things now, too many to say, some seemingly random things, that's normal…a sparkling four leaf clover…an owl feather falling to the ground…here's you and George again, wearing beards? You wrestle him and act as though you're angry but really, the both of you are laughing, a crowd around you encourages you to fight…now you're…oh."

Ava went silent and Fred questioned eagerly. "What, what is it?"

Her cheeks flushed the color of raspberries. "It's the inside of an unused horse carriage…it's dusty…the windows are clouded with steam…you're terribly out of breath and so is she, she whispers she loves you in your ear. You say it back. She's beautiful. You're happy. You're both happy."

Fred felt his cheeks warm and redden as well; she had just seen a moment from the first night he was a virgin no longer. It had been with Angelina, late at night after the Yule Ball.

"You're holding a sack of coins in your hand, it's heavy, and you've never held so much money in your life…You're swimming naked in a lake and there's an old man with a cat yelling at you, I can feel the way he tugged on your ear to drag you out on to the shore…you're writing something, as you do it your hand sears in pain, there's a flash of pink and a high pitched laugh…"

Harry's Tri-Wizard winnings he had gifted to him and George. Filch. Detention. Umbridge.

"You and George…you're planning something by candlelight…your heart is beating like crazy, you're more nervous than you've ever been but you hide it well, mask it with confidence…fire…sparks…you're laughing, laughing so hard your ribs hurt…you're standing in an empty shop, but now it's not empty any longer. There's color and noises and smells everywhere…your heart skips a beat every time you hear the ring of a cash register."

Ava suddenly started frowning, and her hands just slightly quivered. "There's…a lot of fear. A lot of dread. Worry. Anxiety. I see things but I'm not sure you want me re-living them out loud for you…but you're not happy. You joke and you laugh but deep down, for the first time, you're not happy. You're quite exhausted from worrying, actually, all the time, about everyone…your house burns…your mother screams…George is lying on the couch and there's a pool of blood around his head, oh God Fred, I'm sorry…the ground is shaking. It shakes hard, like there's an earthquake."

Fred's heart dropped as he realized what was coming next.

"There's screaming, and…a smell…it's blood…you're wild with fear, you're frantic…you want to know where George is…screaming…smoke…dust…the ground shakes, and there's a metallic moan, like the sound of something collapsing. Your heart is breaking. You…you say goodbye. You have regrets…your heart breaks again."

"And now it's…static. Just static. There's nothing else."

Ava opened her eyes slowly. They were shining with tears and her face was still flushed, and she panted for breath slightly. "There's nothing else," she repeated softly.

She started to remove her top hand from his, but Fred stopped her; he reached forward with his other and laid it on top of hers. They were neatly piled now, all four alternating hands sandwiched on top of one another, hers covered in bandage and his now moist with sweat.

"That last memory," he said slowly.

She nodded a little. "You almost died, didn't you?"

"I came quite close."

"And? How long ago was that?"

Fred sighed heavily. "Four years, in about a week."

His words hit her like a slap across the face, her expression one of bewilderment, confusion, and sorrow, all mixed together. "I'm sorry, Fred."

"Don't do that. Don't pity me."

"I'm not."

Fred stared at her quizzically and she spoke again while looking at their hands piled together. "I'm just sorry for…everything. Everything that's happened to you. It seems like…it seems like a lot's been taken away from you."

"I told you, I don't want your pity—"

"I'm not pitying you, Fred. I'm empathizing."

She looked up from their hands to meet his eyes. "I just know what that's like—to have things ripped away from you against your will. To feel like everything's been stolen…like your life is smoke, or mist, drifting away as you desperately try to grab at it but it just disappears between your fingers and before you even know what's happening, you're left empty handed."

Fred laughed, but it was humorless, hollow and bitter. "I think you just put into words everything I've been feeling but haven't ever been able to say."

"How did it feel to hear it out loud?"

He smiled at her a little and nodded to himself. "Good, actually. It felt good."

They sat in silence for about a minute before he finally removed his hand from the top and they separated back to their respective sides of the table. Then, simultaneously, Fred felt a fluttering sensation in the deep of his chest, the same one he had felt at the hospital, and Ava jumped suddenly, flinching in her seat.

"Woah," she muttered, staring downwards in no particular direction. Her hand rose to her chest and she rubbed her sternum as though she had just recovered from a painful coughing fit.

Fred fought the urge to do exactly the same, his hand twitching. "What is it?"

She looked up at him, her hair falling slightly in her face, and randomly let out a laugh, one that sounded relieved and a bit breathless. "I did it. You did it."

"Did what?"

Her posture grew and she smiled widely at him, her eyes soft and shining with pride. "I felt you, Fred. It's gone now but it was there, I felt you. It hit me with full force, like a whack to the back of the head." She laughed again, rubbing her chest.

Fred didn't even need to ask, he knew exactly what had happened. Another part of the wall in his chest…a small one, but a part all the same…had crumbled.

Him, washing her hands. Her, looking inside of his mind and seeing all of his most important memories. Their lives, hers still a mystery to him, drifting through their fingers like smoke.

She had done it again. Touched him in a place he had sworn to himself he would close off forever. A place that had collected cobwebs and thick layers of dust over the past four years. It was the place that seemingly lived right in the center of his chest, the place that had been abandoned and shut down, every window and door boarded up and nailed shut, with a thick wall erected around it, warding off all visitors.

But she had broken through again. And there she sat across from him, smiling excitedly, her hand resting on her own chest.

Fred felt like this was a moment he should have the perfect thing to say, but he was frustratingly at a loss for the right words. "Well…I'm sorry it only lasted for a second then," he settled for.

Her smile faded softly and she bowed her head towards him. "Don't be sorry. The static's back…but its less overwhelming now. Not as fuzzy."

Again, he didn't quite know what to say, so he nodded back.

"I'm sorry…for everything that's happened to you," she said softly. "I know you said you don't want my pity…but I am sorry. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. It's like there's this great big wound inside of you that hasn't let you feel anything since your accident, isn't there?"

He had so many questions for Ava, and luckily, she had promised him some answers. Answers that he still hungered for and he would ask for very, very soon.

But for now, in that moment, he didn't feel the need to interrogate or demand answers from her. He just looked at her, locking their eyes together, remembering what she had said about the fresh wounds on her knuckles.

"It'll heal," he said.

And he meant it.


	11. Chapter 11--Ryan

**Chapter 11—Ryan**

"Run us through the facts, Potter. Everything we've got, from beginning to end," Kingsley said as he lowered the frothy mug of steaming hot butterbeer from his mouth.

Ron coughed and choked into his own mug upon seeing the mustache of white foam that remained on Kingsley's upper lip. Harry kicked him under the table, perhaps a bit too hard, but luckily the lively Sunday afternoon atmosphere of The Three Broomsticks made the gesture hardly noticeable.

"Um…sir…you have something…there," said Harry, vaguely gesturing towards his own mouth.

Kingsley cleared his throat loudly and mumbled something about how he was going to get around to it _eventually_, and then resumed looking at Harry pointedly.

Harry cleared his throat as well and adjusted his glasses before holding out the stack of parchment before his eyes. It was Ryan Loxwood's entire case file, which they had found after about an hour of ripping apart the Reports desk at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It had been beneath a mountain of various other bits of paperwork, and Kingsley, fiery with rage at the discovery that the grisly murder had been reported but not brought to the Auror Department's attention, had sacked three employees on the spot.

"Okay," said Harry, rifling through the papers. "Let's set up a bit of a timeline, a chain of events."

Ron froze with a forkful of golden fried fish halfway to his mouth, and disappointedly set it back down. He pulled out a quill and notepad from his bag, a sour look on his face.

"I'm not your bloody secretary," he hissed to Harry.

Harry kicked him under the table again while grinning at Kingsley, fake and exaggeratedly. "Okay, so. Ryan Loxwood, eighteen years old. Hogwarts graduate, Hufflepuff. Her cousin said he may have had a job opportunity for her at his company in Dublin…err…it looks like it's a private Hippogriff sanctuary…she was going to interview for the position of a groundskeeper, taking care of the garden and such, collecting the Hippogriff feces and converting it into fertilizer—"

"_Important_ information only, please," said Kingsley, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

Ron gaped at him for a moment before furiously scratching out _**'Hippogriff feces'**_ from his notes with his quill.

"Right," said Harry. He shuffled the papers. "She was in Holyhead with friends the day before and decided to take the Muggle ferry over to Dublin. Her Mum said she took Muggle transportation quite often, as she was awful at Apparition and deathly afraid of flying…anyway…she took the swift ferry, it was on schedule to sail for only two hours before docking in Dublin. Her body was found in the Dublin shipyard so obviously she made it on the ferry ride over. However, her body was soaking wet with water, as though she had just swam. No reports of rain that day."

"What time did the ferry arrive?" Kingsley asked, drumming his fingers again and looking into space thoughfully.

"Erm…seventeen past three, in the afternoon."

"And what time was her body found?"

Harry rapidly scanned another roll of parchment, the crime scene report. "Three twenty five."

Rob looked up from his scribbling, his mouth agape in horror. "Bloody hell. So she was on dry land for what—" he ticked on his fingers "eight minutes, before biting it?"

"Shorter, actually," said Harry. Kingsley and Ron stared at him questioningly, and he pointed with his finger to the paper. "It says here there was an extraordinarily generous pool of blood found at the scene…she was estimated to have already been dead for…here it is…four minutes."

Kingsley joined Ron in making a face as well. "Her ferry docked at three seventeen, and she was killed at approximately three twenty-one. Potter, Weasley, any thoughts?"

Ron's face lit up like a firework. "It means this wasn't completely random. She was already being watched, or followed."

Kingsley nodded deeply. "Very good."

Ron grinned, heavy with smarm, and took a victorious bite of fish.

"Sir," said Harry hesitantly. "For the record, I agree with that. Completely. But may I play Devil's Advocate for a moment?"

Kingsley folded his hands together. "Of course."

"Well," Harry began. "Does that make it an absolutely necessary fact that she was already being watched or followed? I mean, maybe this was just a complete madman, totally mental, who randomly chose her upon seeing her."

"And basically turned her into Nearly Headless Nick for no apparent reason?" Ron snorted.

Harry shrugged and looked to Kingsley for input, who was thoughtfully nodding.

"No, Potter's right," said Kingsley. Ron wilted slightly in his seat, a defeated look upon his face. "But you are correct as well, Weasley. We've seen psychotic killers in the past who murder just for the sake of murdering, but admittedly, this does not seem like that. This…it reeks of suspicion, and truly foul play."

Harry nodded and began shuffling through the stack of parchment again.

"Hang on—what's that? A few papers back…yeah, there…inbetween those sheets…what is that?" Ron asked, pointing to the pile.

Kingsley leaned forward in interest as Harry extracted a completely flattened brown paper bag, folded into a neat square. Stamped to the front in sloppy black ink was the word '**EVIDENCE**'.

Harry began to unfold the bag, but jumped in surprise as he felt the tip of Kingsley's wand land on his hand rather aggressively, stopping him.

"Gloves, Potter."

Harry hurriedly conjured a thin pair of white gloves with a swish of his wand while Kingsley peeked out from the side of the booth, scanning the pub in a slightly paranoid manner. The Three Broomsticks was crowded, a sea of bodies pushed up against one another, all laughing, talking, and drinking. Most of the guests wore garb supporting their favorite Quidditch team and swarmed around the various magical radios placed throughout, listening intently to the broadcasts of today's games. No one paid them any mind.

Harry slowly opened the mouth of the paper bag and delicately withdrew a small square of paper. His nose wrinkled.

"It's just a Muggle receipt, for the ferry," said Harry.

"Turn it over, mate," Ron urged excitedly.

He turned the receipt over to reveal a short message, scrawled crookedly, the font enormously sloppy. By all means, it appeared as though it were scribbled in a hurry.

'_Dark wizard chasing girl on Dublin ferry and shipyard. Please help'_

Harry read it aloud before turning it upside down to face Kingsley. He mouthed the words to himself as he read it, and kept staring at it after he was done.

Ron grabbed the paper bag it had been in and turned it over, reading a label. "It says here this was delivered to the Law Enforcement's Reports desk by emergency Apparating owl at 3:20. She must have summoned one and sent it—"

"Right before she died," finished Harry. "A minute before she was killed."

Kingsley sighed heavily, his eyes shadowed with sadness. "And then Enforcers arrived very shortly after, and took about three minutes to find her. Only by then it was too late, and all they found was her body." Ron scratched along his parchment furiously, trying to keep up with Kingsley's words.

"I can't believe the Auror Department wasn't notified about all of this," said Harry in disbelief.

Kingsley shook his head bitterly. "The Law Enforcement department better brace themselves. When I come into work tomorrow I'm looking into this further, and I can promise, more heads will roll."

Ron choked and sputtered on his mug of butterbeer once more, and Kingsley's eyes suddenly bulged in horror at the realization of his unintentional pun relating to Ryan's death.

Harry cleared his throat hurriedly in an attempt to break the tension. "I do find something about this note odd," he said.

Kingsley composed himself. "What's that, Potter?"

Harry brandished the receipt. "Why would she write, 'dark wizard chasing girl', on the cry for help? In third person like that? Why not, 'I need help', or, 'I'm being chased'?"

Kingsley shrugged. "Perhaps she wrote it that way in hopes that when Enforcers arrived, they would search for a girl in peril. Simply writing 'I need help' could have pointed to anyone."

Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged in reply.

"So," Kingsley continued. "Ryan was murdered by this man—how was it that Fred and George described him again?"

"Ugly. Looked like a rat," replied Harry.

"Yes. A rat looking fellow, I remember now. He murdered Ryan, stole her wand…and resurfaces one week later in an alleyway around two in the morning, using Ryan's stolen wand against another girl, his new victim."

"Fred said her name was Ava," Ron chimed in, pointing at Kingsley with a fried potato speared on the end of his fork.

"Ava," repeated Kingsley. "Only Fred and George interrupt him, and Ava survives the ordeal."

"Barely though, apparently," said Harry. "Rat-man threw the Snitch-looking object on Ava's back, which more or less melted the skin right off and emitted a smoke that stung Fred and George as well."

"And this Rat-man, he then disappears, leaving Ryan's stolen wand behind. George finds it and takes it along with him to present to us at the meeting," said Kingsley.

"Which brings us here," finished Ron, finishing his last scribble and setting down his quill.

The three of them sat in silence for a couple minutes—Ron, reviewing his notes, Kingsley, staring off into the distance, and Harry, still studying Ryan's note.

"Like Potter said in Cork," said Kingsley finally, sighing, "we will need to talk to the girl. Find out what was happening leading up to her attack. Find out if she knows who the Rat-man is. And then…we will get to work on catching him. Immediately."

Kingsley collected all of the papers from the table and rose from his seat, Harry and Ron taking that as their cues to do the same.

"To the Burrow," ordered Kingsley, and Disapparated loudly.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks.

"All of this had to happen on our weekend," grumbled Ron, buttoning his brown trench coat. "This couldn't have happened on a bloody boring Tuesday, eh?"

Harry laughed and shook his head. "I don't think killers have any sort of set schedule, Ron." He Disapparated, leaving Ron alone.

"Well maybe they should," Ron whispered to himself, drained the rest of Kingsley's butterbeer, and followed after Harry.

000000

Harry, Ron, and Kingsley leaned their broomsticks against the railing of the wooden platform outside the Treehouse, and headed inside. It was quiet and still, but they immediately spotted Fred sitting at the middle table alone, eating leftover stew. He seemed surprised to see them and jumped at the sound of the door slamming shut, looking up from his bowl with a rather frightened look on his face.

"Hi," he said breathlessly, setting his spoon down and standing.

"Hey Fred," said Harry, nodding once in his direction.

Fred smiled at him but it didn't seem genuine, and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"George said you'd be up here," said Ron, crossing his arms and his face suspicious. "Why aren't the two of you together?"

Fred raised a single eyebrow at his brother. "Excuse you? I wasn't aware we had to be together at all times."

"You usually are," Ron shot back.

"And you're usually a great big prat, I see that hasn't changed."

"Fred," Kingsley smoothly interjected. "We were actually hoping to speak to the girl. Ava, was it? George said you and he fetched her from the hospital and the tree read her as clean."

Fred's hands withdrew from his pockets and he crossed his arms across his chest. "Yeah, that's right."

"We were hoping to speak to her," Kingsley repeated.

Harry noticed Fred's face pulling together, his jaw rigid and eyebrows furrowed in a seemingly arrogant expression. He recognized it instantly, it was the face both him and George made when they were told what to do.

"She's sleeping," Fred said shortly.

"Sleeping?" asked Ron. "Where? And it's only noon."

"People are allowed to sleep whenever they see fit, Ronniekins," said Fred. "And I set her up in the third floor porch. Just transfigured the lounge chair into a bed, is all."

"Yes, we figure she must be very tired after her ordeal," Kingsley said gently, but he took a few steps forward, towards the spiral staircase. "But this really is urgent."

Harry nearly choked on his breath in surprise as he witnessed Fred striding rather quickly to block Kingsley from the staircase entrance. He stood between the two railings, his body blocking the steps, and crossed his arms again.

"She's sleeping," Fred repeated.

"Oi, Fred," Ron sputtered. "That's the Minister of Magic you're talking to!"

"It's quite alright Ron," said Kingsley, but kept his gaze on Fred.

"Fred," Harry said in his best tone of voice that carried both grace and firmness. "We really just need to talk to her. There's been a murder. The wand that George got from the wizard—"

"No need to explain, Potter," said Kingsley, still facing Fred in an unblinking challenge. "We'll explain it all at the next Order meeting. But for now, the girl is a key witness in our murder investigation and _we need to speak with her." _

Harry noticed a slight edge to Kingsley's voice; it was the beginning of him losing his patience.

"Right," said Fred, unmoving. "But see, she's officially my charge, therefore she's my responsibility, and right now _I feel_ that it's best we let her rest as she pleases...and then yes, we shall most definitely speak to her to find out what's going on."

Ron released a sarcastic laugh of disbelief. "Your charge? So you're Heading this mission for the Order, then? When was that decided, hmm? It's usually by vote."

"Ron," Harry warned. He had gotten to know each member of the Weasley family well enough by now to know that Fred differed from George with an occasional nasty temper. Harry had witnessed it for himself several times and wasn't sure if he wanted to see it again anytime soon.

"Fred Weasley, while I appreciate and respect your efforts to fully protect your charge, you will need to understand that there are more important things at play right now and her input is absolutely imperative. I'm going to have to insist that you step aside," said Kingsley firmly, the volume of his voice rising.

Fred made a slightly disgusted face. "_Well I'm going to have to insist that—"_

"What's going on?"

An American female voice came drifting down the spiral staircase and Harry could hear the soft creak of the steps as someone descended. When she began to appear, the first thing he noticed were her bare feet, and then, a skirt and blouse that hung off of her thin frame…too thin, nearly frail. Her arms swung at her sides and ended in both hands wrapped in white bandage. Blonde hair fell down to her ribs in waves and her face was marred by both eyes ringed in dark bruising and a bright red scratch that ran across one of her cheeks.

Fred looked at her over his shoulder but didn't budge his protective stance. "You don't have to do this right now," he said to her softly, his voice suddenly gentle and void of all venom.

Harry and Ron turned to one another simultaneously, Harry's eyebrows raised and Ron's face twisted in disbelief and outrage, his jaw dropped open.

"What the hell is he doing?" Ron hissed.

"I dunno," Harry whispered back hurriedly.

"No," the girl, presumably Ava, said. "It's okay. I want to help…however I can." Her eyes drifted over to Kingsley, Harry, and then Ron. Her gaze lingered on Ron for a couple additional seconds, a look of recognition spreading across her face as though she had seen him somewhere before, and then back to Fred. She smiled weakly and nodded.

"Alright," Fred muttered, and stepped aside, but remained leaning on the banister with one of his elbows. Ava didn't descend the rest of the stairs; just stayed frozen where she was on the third one from the bottom.

"Ava, I presume? I am Kingsley Shacklebolt, a fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix, an Auror, and the Minster of Magic." He smiled widely at her and sunk into a deep bow. When he rose to full posture Ava took one more step down, and extended her bandaged hand.

"It's nice to meet you," she said softly.

Kingsley seemed mildly surprised at her offer of a handshake but took it. Harry saw her grip Kingsley's hand rather firmly as she shook it, slowly and formally. Kingsley suddenly jumped a bit and drew his hand back.

"Pleasure," he murmured, stepping backward. "My apologies, it seems as though we exchanged a shock…these are new robes…"

Out of the corner of Harry's eye he noticed Fred smirking just slightly, as though he were gloating with knowledge of something he knew that no one else did.

Ava's hand remained outstretched, empty in the air as she trained her bruised eyes on Harry and Ron. The two of them stumbled forward, shaking her hand and introducing themselves. After she released her grip on them Harry was vaguely aware of an aching sensation in the center of his palm.

"So," Kingsley said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I won't keep you from your rest, it…erm…looks like you…deserve some." His eyes lingered on her injured face. "We'll need to sit down at some point and take this at length, with a formal report and all, but for now we really just have to ask if you know anything about your attacker from the alleyway. You see, we traced his wand—"

"It wasn't his wand," Ava suddenly interrupted him. Harry narrowed his eyes, confused at her tone of voice—she hadn't interjected matter-of-factly, or hurriedly. She had done so in a tone that almost sounded like she was…exasperated. Frustrated.

"No, it wasn't," Kingsley said, nodding. "The wand brought us back to a grieving family, actually. The true owner of the wand was brutally murdered, just last week."

Ava's face drained of what little color was in her cheeks and her lips parted in surprise. "L-last week?" she stuttered.

"Yes, that's right."

Her eyes widened and she suddenly sunk down to sit, or collapse, rather, on the stair behind her feet.

"Ava, what is it?" Fred asked, looking at her with confusion.

She ignored Fred and stared blankly at Kingsley, her body appearing limp and weak as she sat. "That girl's dead, isn't she?" she whispered.

Harry jumped in surprise and saw both Ron and Kingsley do exactly the same. The three of them quickly exchanged glances before Kingsley spoke again.

"So you knew the other victim, Ryan Loxwood?"

Ava stared past Kingsley into the open space, her mouth agape, her eyes fixating on nothing specific at all. "So that was her name?"

Kingsley looked at Harry and Ron once more before taking a seat on the end of the table bench closest to the stairs, attempting to be at eye level with her. "Ava," he said gently. She didn't look at him. "Ava, you need to try your best to focus and tell us everything you know."

She seemingly snapped out of her temporary shock and struggled to take a deep breath, her fingers traveling to the collar of the too-large shirt and desperately tugging at it as though it were choking her. Harry immediately took notice of a thick pink scar that wrapped around her neck, and his mind flashed back to Ryan's aunt.

"_Ryans throat was sliced so deeply, the vertebrate of her neck was scratched by the knife!"_

"Ava," Kingsley pressed. "Tell us what you know."

A single tear ran down her cheek. "I…I can't," she squeaked in a small voice.

"Ava," said Fred in his gentle voice again. "I know you're…scared, but you can trust these men. We're all here to help you…we can't do that if you keep staying quiet. Start to trust each other a little more, remember?"

She looked up at him, her face begging for understanding. "You don't understand," she said through gritted teeth, more tears escaping her eyes. "I…_can't_." She emphasized the word "can't" in a way, her eyes pleading to Fred, which made Harry suddenly jump with realization.

"You…you want to, don't you?" Harry asked. Ava's face, shining with tears, turned to him rapidly. "You want to tell us…you want to…but you can't."

She nodded feverishly. "Yes. Yes!"

"Is it because you're afraid?" Fred asked.

Ava shook her head. "That's not…no."

"You just quite literally _can't_," said Harry. Her eyes were alight and she was nodding again, brilliantly excited that someone was understanding and saying it for her, instead of her having to do it herself.

"Something magical? A spell, a curse?" Ron asked.

She kept nodding but shrugged. "I don't know the term for it."

"Can you explain what the spell looked like? Or sounded like?" asked Harry.

"I don't know, I don't know if I can do that!" she exclaimed, gnawing on her lip in frustration.

They all stared at her in silence for a moment before she suddenly sprang to her feet and descended the remaining steps. She wordlessly grabbed Fred's hand and pulled him over to the open floor area in front of the fireplace.

"This," was all she said, looking at Harry, Ron, Kingsley, and lastly Fred.

She slowly sunk to her knees, pulling down Fred to an identical kneeling position directly across from her. She raised her arm, still holding on to Fred's hand, between them and froze it there. With her other hand, she extended her index finger and traced a path down her forearm, to her hand, on to his, and up his arm.

"An Unbreakable Vow," said Ron suddenly. Everyone else murmured "aahhh's" and nodded upon the realization. "You…you made an Unbreakable Vow."

Her eyes were pleading again as she and Fred got to their feet. "I didn't want to!"

"You were forced," said Harry. She nodded feverishly.

"Ava," said Fred, bowing his head down slightly towards her. "This is important. We may be able to figure out a way for you to tell us what you need to…just try and tell us…what were the conditions of the Vow?"

She closed her eyes before she spoke, squeezing them shut in concentrated efforts to choose the right words. "If I…say anything…about my…um…past," she struggled, speaking torturously slowly. Her eyes opened and she looked at Fred. "My parents," she whispered.

Fred stared back at her with complete eye contact between them, his eyebrows knitted together in determined understanding. "If you tell us where you came from and what's happened to you," he started slowly. "Your parents will die. That's the Vow?"

Harry saw her chest collapse slightly as though she finally let out a breath she'd been holding.

"Yes," she replied.

_000000_

_Six Days Ago_

_Swift-Ride ferry from Holyhead to Dublin_

It had been a torturously long two hours. Even on the Swift-Ride ferry, Ryan felt like they'd been on the water for ages. She was itchy with impatience, and it was times like these she wished she could Apparate better. She filed the wish away in the back of her mind, determining to make it a goal for herself to fulfill in the near future.

"Thank you again for choosing the Swift-Ride ferry service, from Holyhead to Dublin," said an overly pleasant, female voice recording over the boat's mounted speakers. "Docking time is approximately five minutes. Don't forget to thank your Captain!"

"Finally," Ryan muttered to herself. She tucked her book away in her purse and fidgeted in her seat for a moment before deciding to head to the restroom to freshen up, re-apply her lipstick and all of that. She wanted to show her cousin Michael how grown up and put-together she was now. They hadn't seen each other in a few years and Ryan was determined to make a big impression and score the job at the Hippogriff sanctuary.

Ryan descended the frighteningly steep stairs leading down to the bottom floor of the boat, following the signs directing to the washrooms. She was just about to make the right down the thin corridor when she heard hushed voices, and froze in her tracks.

"You're really, really stupid, you know that?" came a man's voice. "You are one extraordinarily dumb little fuck, to get on a boat like this. You should have known better I'd find you here. But don't you worry. You've made me a very, very happy man."

Ryan heard the vague sounds of a struggle; panting, the friction of clothes, something that sounded like feet kicking the wall. Something, a little voice in the back of her head, told her to leave. Turn away, go back the way she came, forget she ever heard what she had and go about her business.

_No_, she thought to herself, _be brave. Do the right thing. Be brave_. Her fingers grabbed on to the charm she wore around her neck. It was a silver Celtic cross flanked by wings, and her Grandmother had given it to her for her tenth birthday.

"Whenever you feel frightened, or feel like you can't be brave, you remember this cross and a Guardian Angel will be sent your way," her Grandmother had said.

Her fingers toyed with the charm as she took a deep breath and tip toed forward, and flattened her back against the wall. Very, very slowly, she peeked around the corner.

A man, short in stature with a pointy face covered in black stubble, was holding a girl up against the wall forcefully. He had one hand wrapped around her throat and the other pinching both sides of her mouth, making her lips pucker. She was dressed in all black clothing and had buttery blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun at the top of her head. Her eyes were wild with fear but she stared at the man deeply, right into his eyes.

"Don't try your stupid fucking mind tricks on me," he snarled, and used the hand grasping her chin to slam the back of her head up against the wall. It made a metallic clanging sound and the girl squeezed her eyes shut in pain.

"I don't know how you're able to do what you are, but whatever it is, it doesn't work on me," he continued, his face not even an inch away from hers. "God, I hate you so fucking much. You have no idea—no…idea—" he banged her head against the wall again "—what you have put me through these past three months. Everything has been compromised because of you—everything! You stupid bitch."

Ryan's eyes widened as he leaned in even closer to the girl, their noses nearly touching.

"I wish…more than anything…_anything_, right now…that I could just kill you, right here on the spot. Squeeze your pretty little head until it pops like a bloody zit." He slammed her head against the wall once more, and her feet slipped out from under her for a moment before she caught herself. "Unfortunately I don't get the privilege of making that decision. That's up to Merryweather. But God, what I would give to just end your sorry little life, right here and now. You are so lucky I can't Apparate right now, or else I would drag you back to the compound and—"

Upon hearing the word 'Apparate', Ryan gasped and suddenly took a step forward, revealing herself in the passageway. She drew her wand out from her purse and raised it with a shaking hand.

"Let her go," she said to the man, her voice quivering.

The girl against the wall opened her mouth as much as she possibly could with the man's hand still clasped around it. "No!" she screamed, struggling against the man's grasp harder than ever. "No! No! Just go! Run!"

The man looked back and forth between Ryan and the blonde girl rapidly, and the ferry suddenly gave an almighty lurch.

"Thank you for traveling Swift Ride, from Holyhead to Dublin," the woman's recording played over the speakers. "You have arrived."

The three of them all lost their balance and comically lurched, their arms waving like windmills. Ryan nearly fell over backwards but was caught by surprise as her hand was grasped firmly by the girl, who had broken free from the man's grip with the sudden stop of the boat.

She said nothing as she dragged Ryan back the way she came, making rapid, wide strides in a sprint, her face wild with fear. Ryan looked over her shoulder to see the man making chase.

"He's coming, he's coming!" Ryan cried out.

The girl turned a sharp corner and took the steep stairs two at a time. Her grip and arm strength was shockingly strong; she practically pulled Ryan up behind her in the air.

They burst on to the main floor of the ship, in the common area lined with benches and swarming with people all making their way to the exit ramps.

"We'll never make it through the crowd, he's close!" Ryan screamed.

The girl tightened her grip on Ryan's hand and ran through the common area with her, out to the open air walking path of the ship. She suddenly turned and grasped Ryan with both hands around her waist.

"What—" Ryan started, but was suddenly hoisted in the air and flung overboard. She hit the icy water hard and plunged deeply, and opened her eyes while submerged. An explosion of bubbles and a darkly clothed figure joined her the second after, and she saw the girl, her hair floating gracefully up and around her head like a cloud. She jabbed her head to the side, bubbles streaming through her nose, signaling Ryan to follow her. As she turned and began swimming away through the murkiness, Ryan took notice of thick black lettering tattooed on the back of her neck: an M and a W, stacked on top of one another. The man's death threat to the girl echoed in her head.

"_That's up to Merryweather."_

Ryan followed her through the water until she couldn't hold her breath any longer. Her head broke through the surface, the girl's right beside hers, both of them gasping and sputtering for breath. Ryan had barely even begun blinking the water out of her eyes before she felt a strong grip on her arm, hoisting her out of the water. She coughed and stumbled on dry land, the girl fumbling for her hand again.

"We have to go!" she yelled, and they took off running again, across the gravel blacktop of the cargo shipyard. They were slightly slower than before, their soaked clothes sticking to their skin and weighing them down. Ryan looked frightfully over her shoulder again as she ran, but didn't see the man behind them this time.

"I think…I think we lost him!" she gasped.

The girl didn't slow down and continued pulling her, her black combat boots splashing through puddles ahead of Ryan as they ran, weaving through enormous cargo containers pushed together like a maze.

"I'm going to double back and see if I can catch him!" the girl called over her shoulder. "I want you to run! Run far, run hard, and run fast. Even if it looks like he's gone. Don't stop running until you've gotten somewhere safe!"

"What? Go back and find him? You heard him, he's going to kill you!"

The girl very suddenly stopped in her tracks and released Ryan's hand. She spun rather gracefully around to face Ryan, her face frantic and still dripping with water.

"Better me than you, sweet girl," she whispered, mashed her lips to Ryan's forehead in a swift kiss and immediately set off in a sprint, disappearing back the way they came.

Ryan obeyed her and ran, darting through the tight squeezes of spaces between cargo containers. She came to a T shape in her path, and randomly decided to run to the right. It was a dead end. Ryan took the opportunity to pause for a moment, raising her wand and crying out the incantation for an emergency Apparating owl.

In a swift poof, a brown and beige colored Barn owl appeared in midair, flapping its' wings for balance and holding out it's leg. Ryan tore away the leather pouch that dangled from its claws and pulled out the quill, her hand frantically rummaging through her purse for paper.

In a moment of genius she remembered the ferry receipt that she had crumpled and pushed into the zippered compartment of her wallet, and furiously pulled the zipper undone, silently praying it had kept the receipt dry enough for her to write on it.

Her prayer was answered, the receipt was only damp. She held it against the side of a cargo container, scribbling furiously. The blonde girl had doubled back to try and find and fight the man once more, in a reckless yet amazingly brave attempt to save Ryan's life. The least she could do was try to return the favor and save her by getting her some help against him. Hopefully they would arrive in time to offer her backup.

'_Dark wizard chasing girl on Dublin ferry and shipyard. Please help'_

"Here!" she cried out, brandishing the note at the owl, who took it from her neatly in his beak and promptly Disapparated.

Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest from fear, and she grabbed the necklace charm once more, willing herself to be brave. She took off in a run again, deciding to turn back in the other direction and try to make her way out of the shipyard and on to the crowded streets of Dublin. Hopefully the man wasn't brash enough to attempt an attack in public.

As she turned the corner, she suddenly slammed into something solid and fell backwards, hitting hard against the gravel. She looked up and saw the man standing over her, his mouth curled into a sneer. A long, curved blade glinted in his hand.

"Please don't hurt me…please don't hurt me…" she gasped, scrambling backwards.

He pounced down on her, the way an animal attacks its' prey. That's what this was after all, wasn't it? She had been the mouse scurrying through the maze, him, the cat, stalking her and finally crouching over her, the knife raised.

"_Whenever you feel frightened, or feel like you can't be brave, you remember this cross and a Guardian Angel will be sent your way."_

"Please!" she screamed, her eyes wide. "Please!"

"_Whenever you feel frightened, or feel like you can't be brave, you remember this cross and a Guardian Angel will be sent your way."_

"Sorry love," said the man. But he didn't look sorry. He looked excited. "You saw too much."

"No—"

The blade glinted in the sunlight with quick movement. The man stood and casually walked away.

Ryan choked, wetness quickly spreading across her chest. A tear streamed down her face, and everything in her vision went blindingly white.

Goodbye. 

**Author's notes: I worked so, so hard on this chapter guys. I agonized over it. I wanted to give Ryan, a completely fictional character, as much dignity as I possibly could. I even made myself cry while writing it. I know, I'm nuts...please leave a review.**


	12. Chapter 12--Six

**Chapter 12—Six**

Ava's eyes, appearing glazed over and out of focus, were looking past the bowl of stew Fred had placed in front of her and were mindlessly focusing on the wood grain of the table. She looked completely defeated, harrowed, her bare feet resting on the bench as she held her legs against her chest.

Fred sighed through his nose as he sat across from her peeling an orange.

"You should eat something," he muttered at her. "It's getting cold."

She jumped slightly, flinching out of her trance, and settled her feet back on the floor. "I'm not hungry."

Fred raised a single eyebrow, a sardonic smile on his face. "Oh yeah? When was the last time you ate?"

Ava opened her mouth to answer but Fred interrupted her.

"An ACTUAL meal."

She stared into space for a moment and Fred saw her fingers twitching slightly. He realized she was ticking on them, counting.

He sighed again. "If you need to think about it, it's been too long." He took out his wand and tapped it to the side of the stew bowl, making steam rise from the broth in thick curls. "Go on," he said, nudging the bowl towards her. "Eat."

The scent of the now-hot soup tantalized her enough to make her nostrils flare and her bandaged hand grasp the spoon hesitantly. Fred chuckled to himself and popped an orange slice in his mouth as she began to eat, suddenly wolfing down the contents of the bowl as though she hadn't eaten in years.

He stayed quiet, eating his fruit as she finished rapidly and even scraped the edges of the bowl a bit.

"You want more?"

She shook her head. "No. But thanks."

He levitated the dish into the sink across the room and when he turned back around, Ava was face down on the table, her face resting on her forearms.

Fred settled back down across from her. "You wanna talk about it?" he asked quietly.

"No," she replied instantly, still face down and her voice firm.

Fred chewed on another orange slice. "Alright. Well, let me know if you change your mind."

"I won't."

He stared across the table at the top of her head, taking notice of a thick chunk of her blonde hair that was shorter and uneven from the rest. He reached out and touched her elbow and she flinched away violently, as though his fingers had burned her, and slowly raised her head upright. Fred was expecting to see her crying but her face was dry; yet still carrying the heavy, destroyed expression she had worn moments ago while she'd stared past the bowl.

"Listen," he said. "You look like you're about to fall apart any second and you need to stop. Okay? Just stop. I know you probably feel like that girl's death was your fault, but from what you just were able to tell Kingsley and them it sounds like you tried, pretty damn hard at that, to protect her. For the love of God, you tossed her over the side of the bloody ship to get away from...him. Rat-man. You're sure you can't at least tell us his name?"

She shook her head slowly, staring past him. "It'll violate the Vow."

Fred rapped his knuckles against the tabletop lightly, frustrated. "Right. The point is, you did what you could. You know what? If you want to talk to someone who could relate, you should talk to Harry sometime. The bloke with the glasses you just met. He knows a bit about losing people and beating himself up over it." He laughed lightly and shook his head. "You can't save everyone."

Fred was surprised to see her shoot him an expression of what looked like disgust. Then, she slapped her palms against the tabletop and pushed herself upwards, suddenly rising to her feet.

"Yeah," she said, striding to the spiral staircase quickly. "But one person would be nice," she called over her shoulder.

"Ava."

She froze on the fourth stair, tilted her head backwards in exasperation and turned around slowly to face Fred, her expression pained.

"Fred," she said. "I'm tired. I'm _tired_. I really, _really _just want to go to sleep right now, okay?"

"Fair enough. But you heard Healer Lily in her over-excited tones just the same as I did, your back needs to be treated every night or else the skin could start to...um...rip."

Ava rolled her eyes. "Can we just do it tomorrow?"

Fred smirked. "Stubborn thing, aren't you? First of all, your bloody_ back_ doesn't need to go _ripping_ on my watch, so no. Secondly, I'll actually have to go back to work tomorrow, I won't be here, so again, no. Now."

She crossed her arms across her chest. "Are you always this difficult?"

Fred continued smirking. "Are you?"

For a moment it looked as though Ava was going to argue with him some more, and then seemingly decided she was too tired to do so. She turned back around and continued her ascent of the stairs while staring at Fred pointedly over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised.

Fred took that as his cue to follow her and scrambled to his feet, snatching up George's cross-body bag full of supplies from the hospital and hurrying along behind her.

"You seem…different," he called to her from a few stairs below as they neared the second floor.

She turned to look over her shoulder at him again with a confused expression on her face. "Different? Different how?"

"While we were in the hospital you looked like you were about to crawl out of your skin. Or jump out the window. Frankly, I wouldn't have been surprised to witness either."

"You wouldn't have been surprised to witness me crawl out of my skin? Have you witnessed that before? That's gotta be gruesome," she replied, not looking back. Fred could practically hear the smirk in her voice.

"Yeah, actually, me and George do it often. We're like bloody snakes; wriggling out of our old skin and growing more when we've become tired of our old look." He heard her chuckle and he smiled along with her as they passed through the all-glass, rounded second floor of the treehouse.

"Anyway," he continued, "this is what I was talking about. You're different. You seem more like…I dunno, yourself? Who you really are, I guess, whatever that means. Before, you were utterly terrified. The paranoia was practically leaking out of your pores. Then you swooped down on those people and hypnotized them or something, and strode away like it was nothing, all business. Ava," he stopped both speaking and climbing the stairs and reached out to catch her hand as it swung behind her. She paused and turned her body halfway to look down at him.

"When you did that to those people…you were doing it to protect them, weren't you? Me and George knew you were scared but we still weren't quite sure why you were doing it. Now with the death of that girl…I know what you're doing. You're erasing your tracks so more people don't get hurt, aren't you?"

Ava stared at him wordlessly for a moment. "I told you…I don't want to talk about it," she said softly, and pulled her hand out of his. She turned and resumed their trek up the stairs.

Fred pressed further. "Is it because of the Vow? You can't? Or won't?"

"Won't," she replied, and hesitated before adding, "at least for now."

With one final twist of the spiral staircase they arrived to the third and final floor; a small square shaped enclosed porch where the walls were half wood, half screen. A large portion of the space in the room was taken up by the bed Fred had Transfigured for Ava. It was nearly obnoxious in size; appearing as though it could easily sleep three or four people and piled high with a thick white duvet and fluffy white pillows. It resembled a cloud more than a bed.

Ava suddenly appeared slightly uncomfortable; her face screwed up as though she smelled something unpleasant and her hands nervously pulling on the bottom of her shirt.

"Look," she said, "we don't have to do…this."

"Come again?"

"You know…this," she said, gesturing vaguely at the space between the two of them. "I'm really grateful you want to take care of me as well as help me, but it's not entirely necessary. It's not your responsibility, and I've been on my own and taking care of myself for a little while now. I'm sure I can find a way to do the treatment on my own."

Fred raised his eyebrows. "Do you know how to levitate and enchant objects?" he asked in a teasing tone.

She shook her head. "No."

"Right, well, you can't go hypnotizing the Whirly Puffer here," he replied, pulling the teapot-looking object out of the bag. "I mean, you can try, but I don't think you'll be able to make eye contact with it and _convince_ it to fly above you. That's just my opinion, though."

She bit her bottom lip for a moment before sighing and nodding.

"Alright, so let's get down to it. Go on and strip, shirt off." He spoke in a mockingly authoritative tone and couldn't help but grin as he did so. Fred knew he was pushing her buttons just slightly, and was admittedly getting a sick enjoyment out of it all. He realized this was mostly due to the fact that she seemed capable of not only taking a joke, but keeping up with his banter as well. He wasn't used to it and was taking great pleasure in it; girls usual reactions to his incessant button-pushing included either outrage or furious blushing round the face followed by stuttering.

She raised a singular eyebrow sky-high. "'Go on and strip, shirt off'? That's it? You're not even going to buy me dinner first?"

Fred actually threw his head back and laughed as he turned around to give her some privacy, facing the screen wall and shoving his hands in his pockets. "You know you're actually pretty funny when you're not leaking worry into a puddle on the floor."

He heard her laugh lightly, accompanied by the sounds of friction of fabric as she pulled her shirt over her head. His heart just slightly quickened in pace as he heard the rustling of the blanket and a soft creak of the mattress.

"Err…so, I'm going to try my best here but be warned, I am no Healer," he admitted, tapping his toes inside his shoe nervously.

"Yeah, you said you're heading into work tomorrow. What is it that you do? Professional smartass?"

Fred grinned to himself, still staring out the screen at the branches that surrounded them as he heard more rustling of the bed as she got settled. "Actually, yeah, kind of. Me and George own a joke shop. It's right on Diagon Alley, not too far at all from where we found you."

He heard her take a deep breath. "Okay, you can turn around now," she said.

Fred turned and stepped forward slowly, pulling the bag off of his shoulder and setting it on the bottom edge of the bed. He took notice of his mother's clothes that Ava had been wearing folded neatly at the other end, both the shirt and skirt included. He rapidly looked up in confusion, realizing she must be completely naked, to see her laying chest down on the bed with her head turned to the side facing him, the same way she had been laying the first time they spoke in the hospital. Her hair was piled in a loose twist to expose her heavily scarred, rippled back, and the bottom half of her body was tucked neatly under the fluffy white duvet. It rested upon the curve of her lower back, right where the skin damage ended.

Fred cleared his throat. "Okay, so first I need to apply this…napkin thingy," he said awkwardly, pulling out one of the oversized paper towels and letting it flutter gently down upon her naked back.

"I'm probably going to fall asleep while you do this. I did every time at the hospital. It's very soothing," she murmured, her eyelids appearing heavy.

Fred pulled out his wand and frowned as he tapped the side of the Puffer with it. "Well you can't go falling asleep on me now. We've got loads we need to talk about."

She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. "Like what?"

Fred muttered a spell as the Puffer rose into the air, tilted forwards, and began a slow journey up and down Ava's back, furiously spitting out clouds of light blue mist that fell gracefully through the air and landing on the napkin. He perched himself on the edge of the bed beside her arm. "Erm…I dunno…lots of stuff. You can't say certain things because of the Vow, and you said you're not in the mood to talk about what you can say otherwise. But there's still lots of stuff."

"Like what?" she repeated.

He sighed. "What's your favorite color? And why? Be careful now, this _will _be graded."

She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye again, her brows furrowed. "That's what you want to talk about? My favorite color?"

Fred clucked his tongue, tsk-ing at her and studying his fingernails as the Whirly Puffer continued making pleasant flapping, buzzing sounds above them, like that of a hummingbird. "Avoiding the question—ten points off."

Ava broke out into a wide smile, and then a laugh. "Okay, okay. It's that color that's in-between black and purple. Violet, I guess."

"Why?"

"Real answer?"

Fred nodded at her. She closed her eyes and yawned before answering.

"It's the color of the sunrise. Not the pink or orange when the sun's really coming up. It's when the stars officially begin to fade and the sky begins to lighten just enough to let you know that it's morning. Fred…I can't say much more about it, but I've spent a little while being…chased. Hunted. I guess I can say I'm on the run."

He stayed quiet, watching her face intently. Her eyes remained closed and her speech was just slightly slurred the next time she spoke.

"Night-time was the worst. It was when I was the most vulnerable. I've spent every single night for the past three and a half months running and hiding and wondering if I'm going to live to see the morning. And then that color appears in the sky. Violet. It's a sign from the universe I've—" she paused to yawn widely again "—made it through another night. That it's morning, and I can finally go and rest somewhere. Violet lets me know that I'm alive at least for another day."

Fred didn't know what to say in return, and she lazily peeked out of one eye and looked at him to make sure he was still listening. The Whirly Puffer's buzzing slowed in frequency and the puffs of mist ceased, and it dropped down on to the bed gracefully as its' cycle ended. He rose to his feet and gently pinched the edges of the napkin at her lower back between his fingers and dragged it off of her skin. In its' enchantment, it shook itself off in mid-air like a wet dog and then shrunk, snapping into a neat square in Fred's hand, dry once again. He tucked it back into the bag and then leaned forward to study Ava's back, still moist from the treatment.

"Merlin's beard, that thing really is amazing," he muttered. Her skin was still scarred but the ripples had faded from an angry red to the lightest pink, and had shrunk in size.

When Ava didn't respond he looked at her face to see her eyes closed again and her mouth frowning slightly as she drifted off to sleep. Fred grasped the top of the duvet that was resting upon her lower back and yanked it up, setting it back down around her shoulders. She smiled and hummed to herself in comfort, turning on to her side and curling into the fetal position, tucking the blankets under her chin.

"You can sleep now," he whispered, unsure if she was still awake to hear him or not. "You don't need to wait to look at the sky anymore. Nothing can get you here."

He stepped back and pulled the strap of the cross-body bag over his head and adjusted it across his chest.

"Fred?" Ava murmured sleepily, her eyelids open just a slit.

"Mm?"

"What should I do while you're at work tomorrow?"

He shrugged. "Stay here and sleep all you'd like. There's more food down on the first floor, as well as a washroom with a bath and I think there's some books laying around there as well, if you'd like to catch up on some reading. I'll be back in the evening to do your treatment again."

She nodded, her eyes closed again, and he turned to leave.

"Fred?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for my bed."

He smiled and let out a small laugh. "You're welcome." He almost left again, but hesitated, resting his hand on the banister. "Ava? Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Mm," she murmured, nearing sleep.

"What's your last name?"

She made a grunting sound in reply, and Fred took a step forward. "Sorry? Couldn't hear you."

She licked her lips again and re-adjusted her head on the pillow, her eyes remaining closed. "It's McKinney."

Seemingly seconds after, her mouth turned into a frown again and she began breathing deeply as she entered sleep. Fred turned and quietly made his way back down the spiral staircase, filing the new information away in the back of his mind.

* * *

000000

* * *

It was a day of history.

Such an event had never been witnessed before, and would most likely never occur again.

On Monday, April 16th, 2002, at approximately 8:16pm, Fred and George Weasley sprinted into a library.

The London Library, to be exact, and Harry accompanied them. They'd Apparated together into a filthy alleyway behind a dumpster about a block away, and had immediately taken off in a run as cold rain came down in thick sheets. Harry and the twins bounded up the stairs in front of the door and hurried inside to the slippery tile floor, where Harry promptly lost his footing and yelled out a curse word as he almost fell. He grabbed on to a flimsy coat and hat stand for balance, coming close to toppling that over as well, his legs sliding into a near split. Fred and George stood behind him holding on to the wall for support as they shook with laughter, doubled over and gasping for breath.

A woman behind the front desk cleared her throat loudly, and the three of them spun to look at her. Her eyes were narrowed behind rectangular glasses and a single eyebrow was raised; her mouth was tight as though she were using every bit of self control in her body to not say something.

Her fingers, ending in shiny red nails that looked more like talons, reached forward and snatched a few tissues out of the box sitting on the desk, and held them out to Harry. She did so in the same way one would hold out money to give to a beggar—slightly disgusted, slightly sympathetic to their pathetic appearance, and hoping to be rid of them as soon as possible. He stumbled forward and took the tissues, shooting her an apologetic smile and drying his glasses.

"Where can we find the computers?" he asked her, dropping the tissues into a wastebasket.

She pointed her talon down the hall, which Harry, Fred, and George immediately hurried down.

"You two have to do your best to be…polite, in here," Harry hissed at them. "Or else we're going to get kicked out."

The twins looked at one another incredulously in mock outrage, their jaws open and hands on their hearts.

"Harry…how could you suggest that we're anything but gentlemen?" gasped Fred.

"Really mate, you should know us by now, we're always on our best behavior," followed George, a grin spreading across his face.

"Yes, you're right, I do know you," Harry responded in a whisper. "That's exactly what I'm worried about. Now shut up."

The three of them arrived into an enormous, circular atrium, where countless rows of books wrapped around them in towering levels, leading up to a glass domed ceiling that the rain currently pounded upon.

"Blimey," whispered Fred. "I think we just stumbled into Hermione's dream."

Harry lead the way to a lone computer resting upon a rectangular table, and the three of them pulled up chairs to gather around.

"Now listen," said Harry in a low voice, jiggling the mouse to awaken the computer out of sleep mode. "I'm not a computer expert by any means. I secretly used my cousin's every now and then but that's really the extent of it. We can poke around the internet a bit but don't expect world-class detective work."

"What's the internet?" asked George, reaching forward to touch the computer screen as it jumped to life and loaded icons on the home page.

Harry slapped George's hand down. "It's complicated. It'll be better if you don't ask questions, honestly."

"Yeah George, don't ask questions. Our heads might bloody explode from all the new information," cracked Fred, smirking.

"And then we'll _really _be kicked out. AND probably receive a bill in the mail as well, cleaning fees for the poor Muggle librarian having to mop up our bits of hair and skull and brain—"

Harry shushed them as they began to crack up with laughter again, and opened a search engine. "Alright Fred, what did you say her full name was, again?"

Fred leaned forward, watching Harry strike the keyboard with intense curiosity. "Ava McKinney."

Harry typed her name in, clicked 'Go', and suddenly sat backwards in his chair, his eyes wide as the results page loaded. "Whoa," he muttered, and leaned in again to squint at the screen.

"What is it, what does it say?" Fred asked, exchanging looks with George.

Harry let out a low whistle. "Um…there's a lot. Over two-hundred pages worth of results, to be exact."

George shrugged. "We don't know what that means, mate. We're invalids, remember?"

"Basically I gave the computer a command to find any available information out there on a certain subject," Harry attempted to explain. "The subject we chose was Ava McKinney. So now the computer is showing us everything it's collected over time with her name as an important keyword. And there's a ton of information out there…a ton."

Fred and George leaned in to stare at the computer screen along with Harry.

"What's that one?" asked Fred, pointing to the first result. It was from the TIME Magazine website, and it was titled, 'National Heartbreak: The American Six'.

"Let's see," Harry muttered back, and clicked on the result.

An enormous image was the first thing that loaded on the page, and Harry soon realized it was the cover of the magazine. 'TIME' was sprawled across the top in bold, red letters, and under that, the rest of the cover was black. In the center was thick white text.

**The American Six**

**On the three year anniversary of the mysterious disappearance of six young, promising American college students, America asks the tough questions:**

**Where are they?**

**How did they manage to disappear into thin air?**

**And are they ever coming home?**

Below the words was a single row of images; six smiling faces with their names written below them in fine print.

A man with tousled black hair and friendly eyes squinting tightly in a wide grin: _Callaghan Forrester_.

A girl with dark brown hair blowing in the wind, sunglasses on her face and her mouth open in mid-laughter: _Sarah Serrano_.

A man with sandy blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail and his face covered in a thick beard:_ Steven Farr._

A girl of Asian descent with glossy black hair resting in a braid on her shoulder: _Annie 'Fox' Wu_.

A man with cappuccino colored skin, a small afro and a silver hoop through his nose: _Jason Thomas_.

And lastly…there she was. Harry recognized it as a professional high-school graduation photo: a marbled grey background, her posture perfect and long blonde hair spread over her shoulders in shapely waves, her smile wide and eyes beaming, wearing shiny black robes and clutching a square shaped cap: _Ava McKinney_.

"That…that's her," Fred muttered, tilting his head towards her picture and squinting.

"'The American Six'…Harry…_what is this_?" George asked, leaning in further as well.

Harry scrolled down to the actual article and began to read aloud. "'WASHINGTON D.C.-In what has been hailed as one of the nation's most puzzling and heartbreaking cold cases of the century, the case of the six missing American college students who seemingly vanished into thin air three years ago while studying abroad continues to plague the American public. The case, which remains frozen at the top of both the FBI's Unsolved Mysteries and Missing Persons departments, has baffled both the American and United Kingdom's governments alike, making virtually no progress since the start of the investigation three years ago. President George W. Bush addressed the family, friends, and loved ones of the Six today in Washington...'" Harry trailed off from reading word-for-word and began to summarize. "The President…erm, basically the United States' Muggle version of the Minister of Magic…went on a speech about how the investigation hasn't stopped, and the FBI still has a hotline waiting for anonymous tips and is offering a $500,000 reward for anyone with any information leading to their whereabouts."

"What's the FBI?" asked Fred.

"I don't really know much about it, but I know it stands for the Federal Bureau of Investigations. It's a massively secretive department of the American government dedicated to mostly highly dangerous and mysterious stuff," replied Harry, still reading the article.

"Kind of sounds like the Auror Department. And Department of Mysteries."

"Right. The article is long, really long, I think I'm going to just print this out so we can take it with us back home. They're going to be closing soon anyway," said Harry, glancing at the time. He scrolled down to the bottom of the page, where the article ended with more pictures: people in various locations around the country in night-time vigils, clutching one another and crying, holding candles. Some held signs that read things like 'Come Home Annie' and 'We Want Answers' and 'We Salute the American Six', and some held pictures of the missing students' faces. One of the pictures showed a small makeshift memorial gathered around the edge of a lake, candles and flowers and stuffed animals surrounding a banner draped over a boulder that read, **'AVA—MANCHESTER WAITS FOR YOU'.**

"Manchester? There's a Manchester in the United States?" Fred asked.

Harry nodded, studying the article again briefly. "Yeah. It says here she was originally from Manchester, Vermont." He clicked on the 'Print' icon and got up to collect the stack of papers that were being spit out from the printing machine at the end of the table.

Fred was looking at the computer screen, his brows furrowed. "This magazine issue was published this past November. It says here, November 2001." He made a face and shook his head slightly.

"What is it, Fred?" asked George as Harry came back to sit with them.

"It's just…this was published in November 2001, saying it was the three year anniversary of the disappearances. That means they disappeared—"

"November 1998," finished George, making an identical expression as his twin.

"Six months after the Battle of Hogwarts," muttered Harry, drumming his fingers on his leg. "And now Ava randomly shows up in Diagon Alley with a dark wizard on her tail, three and a half years after falling off of the face of the planet while coming over here for university."

Fred slapped his hand to his forehead. "_What is going on_? For the love of all things holy, what I would give to lift that bloody Vow off of Ava for just 60 God-forsaken seconds and let her talk to us…"

George nodded in agreement and Harry went back to the original results page. The three of them were flabbergasted at the seemingly endless fountain of articles they kept coming across, from obviously major American news publications; Ava's and the other's faces were continuously splashed across every cover of every newspaper: USA Today. The New York Times and Los Angeles Times. The Washington Post. The Chicago Tribune. The Houston Chronicle. And countless others. Harry printed them all.

They were startled by the flickering of the overhead lights, and turned to see the curt woman from the front desk with her hand on the light switch.

"We're closing," she called out.

Harry, Fred, and George collectively sighed and got to their feet, their chairs making scraping sounds in the eerie quiet of the library.

"I've got to get back to the Treehouse to see Ava for her treatment," said Fred to his brother while pulling on his jacket. "I'll see you at home. Start dinner, will you?"

George rolled his eyes. "What am I, your bloody housewife?"

Harry grinned with them and led the way to the front entrance hall. They all froze in front of the door before heading back outside, the twins making disgusted faces at the rain that mercilessly continued on and Harry tucking the thick stack of printed papers inside his Auror trench coat.

"Back to the dumpster alleyway, I suppose," mumbled Fred darkly.

George grinned at them. "Here's hoping we don't get ambushed and vanish for a few years."

"Yeah, here's hoping," Harry muttered back.

The three of them nodded at one another and threw open the door, splashing through puddles and disappearing into the foggy, grey London night.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: **So, does anyone have any theories so far? I'd love to see any and all thoughts. I've been working so hard on weaving this mystery, please leave a review! Thanks for reading.**


	13. Chapter 13--Ache

**Chapter 13—Ache**

By Thursday night, it was still raining, still miserable, and the generous amount of mud that seemed to follow everyone everywhere they went was inescapable.

George bounded up the spiral staircase of the Treehouse; dashing up to the third floor in a frenzied attempt to escape the rain that was painfully pelting at him as it blew sideways, accompanied by a howling wind. He breathlessly stumbled into the open door frame of the enclosed porch just as a clap of thunder resounded through the forest. The room was dreadfully dark with the wooden shutters pulled over the screens, protecting the inside from the storm.

Ava sat cross legged upon the middle of a massive white bed, a single flickering candle in a dish beside her. She was hunched over and squinting at a book, and jumped in surprise at the sudden explosion of noise.

"Fred," she exclaimed, looking up from her reading. A grin spread across her face and she hurriedly closed the book. George took notice of the familiar green cover of _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_.

"Try again, strange bird," he said, smirking and pointing to the side of his head that lacked an ear. Even in the dim light George could see her cheeks reddening as she sheepishly smiled.

"Sorry," she said. "It's a little dark in here."

"Yeah, let's fix that, shall we?" George answered, stepping forward and pulling out his wand. "Lumos Sphaera!"

Several balls of white light shot into the air and took their respective places spread throughout the room, hovering near the ceiling. Both George and Ava blinked hard and squinted a bit, adjusting to the new level of brightness.

"You made a mess," Ava said, smiling and jabbing her chin in George's direction.

He spun around to see the trail of mud that had followed him in the room, which he immediately dissolved with a wave of his wand.

"Is Fred coming?" Ava asked. Her voice attempted to sound timidly curious, but as George stepped out of his filthy shoes and walked over to her bedside, he detected a tone of hopefulness to her question.

"Not tonight," he said, setting his bag down on the edge of the mattress. "He's at home. I'll be finishing up your last treatment session instead."

"Oh."

George grinned at her, raising his eyebrows and cocking his head to one side. "I'd swear you sound a bit disappointed. Personally, I'm offended."

George was expecting her to blush and apologize again, but she surprised him in raising her eyebrows and grinning back, mirroring his expression. "You don't need to be offended. Just make sure you tell me stories equally as riveting as your brother does," she challenged.

He threw his head back in laughter. "You must have Fred confused with someone else. He's not very interesting."

Ava laughed with him and rolled her eyes. She extended her arm and twirled her finger in the air, signaling for him to turn around and give her privacy.

George turned and faced the shutters. "So he's been telling you stories, eh? Is that what he's been doing here every night for a couple hours at a time? I feel so betrayed! This week it's been me all alone with my dinner, waiting for my beloved twin to return home and share a meal with me…all the while he's been here with you, telling you…what, exactly?"

"All sorts of things," he heard her say behind him. "Explained to me more about this place, and the Order. Told me stories about your family. Bragged about all of the badass things you two used to do back in your glory days at school. Did you _really_ drop out with a firework show on broomsticks? You can turn around now, by the way."

George laughed again as he turned. "'Badass', huh? So very American of you. But I like that," he said, nodding enthusiastically. He extended his arms and puffed his chest. "That's me, George Weasley. That's _Mister Badass_ to you."

Ava laughed hysterically in response, her face buried in the mattress as she lay on her chest. "I don't think that's really how you use it."

George grinned as he extracted the healing supplies from his bag. "I'll use it however I like. I'm a rebel. And yes, we dropped out of school with a firework show and flew away on our brooms_. Really_."

She giggled again as George leaned down close in sudden amazement, the tip of his nose nearly touching her back. It was almost completely smooth by now, with just thin white lines criss-crossing her skin. "Blimey," he muttered. "This stuff's amazing."

"Fred's been saying the same exact thing. It looks good?"

"It looks fantastic." He spread the napkin over her back and tapped the Whirly Puffer with his wand, which dutifully sprang to life and hovered overhead, spitting out it's healing mist. "How do you feel? You look loads better, honestly. Your black eyes are nearly faded away as well."

She nodded a little, her chin rubbing on the duvet. "I feel better. I've been keeping busy during the day reading; Ron's wife Hermione brought me quite the collection of her old schoolbooks. And your mother's been feeding me a ton, I'd swear she was trying to fatten me in hopes of cooking me up for a holiday meal. Spread eagle on a platter, apple in my mouth and everything."

George chuckled. "Yeah, Fred told me she's come up a few times with miniature feasts for you. Can't say I'm surprised. First day we saw you last week you looked thin enough to snap like a twig if someone were to bump into you the wrong way. My mother likes skinny people. She sees it as a challenge."

Ava smiled. "She seems like a really, really nice woman. Even if she does serve me for Christmas this year, I'll probably find it in my heart to forgive her." She followed the statement with a mischievous wink and giggled again.

George grinned but shook his head a little. "I can see why Fred's been enjoying spending so much time with you here, strange bird. You've got some fire in you, you know that?"

"Fred said I was different from before too."

"You are."

Ava sighed. "I know. I can feel it."

"What exactly do you feel?"

She looked up at him with the corner of her eye, and hesitated before she spoke. "Safe," she said softly. "I feel safe. Fred promised me I would be, and I think somewhere in my heart, I know that I am."

George nodded. "You are. Here, at least. I can't promise we won't bring you out in public and get another one of your body parts singed off."

Ava smiled, but it didn't meet her eyes. "George…it's been wonderful here, everyone's been great. But yeah, truth be told I've got some cabin fever going on. I know you're all trying to protect me, I get that, but—"

George held up his hand to stop her. "You really don't need to explain. I get it. Actually, me and Fred have been talking and we think we've got a solution."

The Whirly Puffer slowed to a stop, hovering in mid-air, let out one last tiny cloud of mist and disappeared with a pop, it's medical duties fulfilled. The napkin, soaking wet and translucent from the treatment levitated, shook itself dry and followed after the Puffer with a uniform popping noise. George pulled out his wand and began drying Ava's back with a thin stream of air he emitted from the tip.

"What is it?"

"Well," he began, "obviously you're afraid of being recognized, and you don't want anyone to be seen with you. The company you're in automatically becomes endangered as well…Fred told me about that girl from the shipyard. I'm sorry."

She didn't respond, just chewed on her bottom lip and nodded.

"Anyway," he continued, "we thought we'd enchant something so that when you wear it, it makes you appear as someone else to the general public. Like a special cloak, or piece of jewelry maybe. Order members will see the real you but everyone else will see…I dunno, someone else. We'll make someone up. And call you Meredith, of course."

"You can do that?"

Ava's back appeared dry and George tucked away his wand in the waistband of his pants. "Anything is possible…when you're a badass." He wiggled his eyebrows down at her, and he was pleased to see her laugh again. "Your back is as good as new, by the way. Smooth as a baby's bottom."

She awkwardly reached behind her and brushed her fingertips across the skin of her lower back. Her eyes widened. "It's really healed? Completely?"

"Completely," George repeated to her, getting to his feet. "Not a scar or blemish in sight."

A smile spread across her face. "Fred's going to be really excited. He kept saying he couldn't wait to see it at the end. He's been quite the nurse."

He smiled back at her and turned again to let her dress, ignoring the painful twist his stomach gave every time Ava said his twin's name. "Ava," he suddenly found himself saying, "speaking of…erm, nurse…"

"Mm?"

George took a deep breath. "Fred's not feeling well," he said, his voice unsteady. "That's why he couldn't come tonight. But he wanted to."

The sound of rustling came from behind him as Ava climbed off the bed and dressed. "Is he sick?" she asked.

George hesitated, tapping his fingers to the sides of his legs nervously. "Sort of. He's…" he trailed off, struggling. "He's just not feeling well," he repeated. "Point is, I think maybe you should go and see him. Tonight. Might do him some good."

"Oh…kay. You want me to go back to the flat with you? And I'm done."

George turned back around as she finished the last button on another one of his mother's shirts. She was staring at him quizzically.

"No, see I'm actually going to spend a few nights at my fiancé's place. Fred likes to be alone when he's, erm, sick."

She raised a single eyebrow. "He likes to be alone but you're telling me to go and see him?"

George pulled his bag over his head and fiddled with the strap across his chest. "Honestly? Yeah, I am. I've never tried anything like this, I usually leave the poor bloke alone. But something tells me you may be able to get through to him."

Ava folded her arms across her chest. "Why do I feel like there's something you're not telling me?"

He smiled grimly. "Just trust me and go. Please? Give it a shot, that's all I ask."

She kept staring at him but nodded, and he exhaled in relief. "Okay, come with me down to the first level, then. I'll teach you how to use the Floo on your own…"

* * *

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Raindrops traveling down Fred's bedroom window suddenly glowed as a bolt of lightning struck the sky, and it was enough light for Fred to take notice of what his skin looked like. It mirrored the appearance of the window; beads of moisture in tiny globules were peppered across his bare chest, some running down to his belly button in fine trails. He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and raised the edge of the bed sheet with his violently shaking hand, attempting to soak up the sweat and realizing the sheet was still damp from the last time he'd wiped, only about an hour ago.

Fred pressed the sheet to his skin as gently as he could, but each touch was excruciatingly tender, as though he were covered in invisible bruises. He tried to raise the sheet higher to mop his forehead, but his hand shook so hard he was forced to release it. His arm collapsed back down on the bed, shaking harder than ever, and his heart pounded as he panted furiously, as though he'd just run a race.

He moaned loudly and rested the back of his head against the wooden headboard of his bed, squeezing his eyes shut and willing his breath to become even. Four seconds breathing in, five seconds breathing out, four in, five out…

_Broken, a little damaged_…

A small crashing sound, like something being knocked over, echoed down the hallway and met Fred's ears. He opened his eyes just a crack and peered wildly through the pitch-black darkness of his bedroom.

"George?" he called out, his voice strained. "George, is that you?"

Footsteps—soft, timid, and very un-George like—traveled closer and closer. Fred's heart pounded painfully faster as he reached out and rested his hand upon his wand, which laid across the bedside table.

"Whose there?" he demanded.

"Fred?"

Her voice floated from Fred's left and lightning once again illuminated the space. Ava stood in the doorway of Fred's bedroom hesitantly, her hands in fists at her sides and her light eyes squinting through the darkness.

"Ava?" he gasped back, struggling to prop himself up straighter. "Argh!" he cried out as pain shot up the arm that he had been attempting to use. It was a deep, powerful ache that started in his fingertips and traveled up to his elbow, making it shake and give out. He lay there crookedly, half sitting, half laying, his face still tightly screwed up in discomfort.

"Oh my God, Fred, what happened to you?" She took a step forward and began striding across the room to his bedside.

"No!" he said, too forcefully, nearly yelling. "No. Don't come over here. I'm fine."

'_I guess you can't help me when you've given up on helping yourself…'_

The lightning returned, and it revealed her face to be twisted with confusion and worry. "No, you're not fine," she protested, taking a small step forward. "You're soaked in sweat, I can see it from here—"

"Stop!" he yelled, raising a shaking hand. The ache in his elbow pulsed. "No. I said I'm fine. I-I have a migraine, is all." The lie tumbled out of his mouth pathetically, and the energy that he had just used in his exclamation seemingly sucked the remaining life out of him. He slid further down the headboard.

He could see her crossing her arms as she stood in place stiffly, as though she were using active willpower to not finish her journey across the room to his side. "George said you were sick," she said shortly. "You look more than sick. You look like shit."

"Thanks. I could have said the same thing to you last week, but see, I'm a gentleman—"

"I mean it, Fred." Her voice shook. "I…I don't even know how to describe what I'm seeing right now. You don't look right. You need a doctor. A Healer. Whatever." She took a timid step forward.

"Ava!" Fred exclaimed. He found himself dragging his wand across the surface of the table into his grasp, and raised his arm, pointing it at her. "Stay away from me. I won't ask you again."

She stood in silence for a few moments, staring at him in a loss for words. "Are you going to use that on me, Fred?" she asked quietly.

He felt his mouth curling into a tight, thin line. "I will if I have to. Don't. Come. Over. Here." He spoke slowly and threateningly through gritted teeth, but slowly lowered his arm and released his grasp on his wand. It rolled across the mattress and clattered to the floor, and he moaned in dread.

"I guess you don't want me to get that for you?"

"No," he said shortly. His temple throbbed, sharp enough to make him suck in a hiss of breath and squeeze his eyes shut again. "Please don't come over here. Please just go back to the Treehouse. I'll come see you as soon as I'm feeling better, okay?" He tried to thread kindness through his voice, hoping that she would heed his plea out of sheer pity.

'_I see you get lost inside your head and I see the hurt and the fear, written all over your face!'_

"Fred, you need some help right now!" Ava exclaimed, holding her arms out at her sides. "Let me at least get you a glass of water right now, something, anything—"

"I SAID NO, GOD DAMN IT!" he roared. He panted heavily and flinched at the sinking sensation in his stomach—the heavy feeling of instant regret.

She flinched right back at him, shrinking backwards in a cowering motion that reminded him way too much of a frightened animal. He knew he had hurt her, but as he watched her take a couple of slow steps backwards, he realized what he needed to do to make her leave.

"I. Don't. Want. You. Here," he said with gritted teeth again. "Not one bit." More lightning, and he could see the pain attack the features of her face. He hated himself for it.

"Okay," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "Okay. I'm leaving."

"Good. Please do. And here, take these." Fred fought through the ache that wracked his body as he leaned back over to the bedside table and pulled open the drawer, extracting the six sheets of paper he had tucked in there to look at and study over the past few days. He found himself tossing them, one by one, through the air towards Ava. They each spun and fluttered down to the ground at her feet, where she curiously crouched to collect them.

She stayed in a crouching position, her mouth gaping open as she shuffled through the small pile, examining each sheet. "Where did you get these?" she breathed.

"We've been doing some digging," he said shortly. "But yeah, you can have those copies. See if you can do anything with them to _actually_ help us out. I don't need them. They're your friends, or schoolmates, aren't they?"

Ava slowly rose to her feet, her hands shaking as she tightly held on to the six papers. Each one depicted a full color photo of each of the 'American Six' that he, George, and Harry had found in the computer and printed, her own photo included. At the top of the pile, Sarah Serrano's face smiled up at her.

'_It's here, Fred, right here, like the weight of a thousand anchors!'_

A single tear rolled down Ava's left cheek and dropped down on to Sarah's photograph, making a light _ping_-ing noise as it hit the paper. Thunder rolled through the night and lightning struck again in a few quick successions. Fred noticed Ava's face was drained of all color as she continued staring down at the picture.

The sinking feeling in his stomach returned as he realized he had gone too far in his attempt to push the poor girl away; he opened his mouth, a clumsy apology about to spill out, when Ava suddenly turned on her heel and sprinted out of the room.

"Ava!" he called out after her, but he could already hear the flames of his fireplace roaring to life and her voice hastily stuttering out her destination, back to the Treehouse.

"Ava!" he repeated in a strangled yell, but a stagnant silence hung in the air in return. He knew it was too late; she had done what he had asked her to do and left.

Thunder crashed through the silence. This time it was close. It made the window shake.

_A vase that shattered into a million pieces and was glued back together haphazardly, ready to fall apart again any second._

* * *

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* * *

_Hope. So much hope. Excitement. Anxiety._

Ava lifted her gaze from her reading and sighed, shutting the book softly and staring at the doorway, waiting for the guest to arrive.

George. Of course it was George.

"Hey there, strange bird," he said, grinning crookedly. He wore magenta robes with orange embroidery depicting three W's that clashed horribly with his fair skin and ginger hair.

_Exhaustion. Relief. He had come over straight from leaving work._

"Hi," she replied softly. The timid excitement on George's face was killing her.

"So…how was your day?" he asked, running his fingers over the top of his scalp and yanking on his hair a little.

_Hope. Anxiety. Impatience_.

"George, we don't need to make small talk. It didn't work. I'm sorry, but your brother wouldn't let me near him. He was…what do you Brits call it? 'Out of sorts'." Ava smiled weakly but George's disappointment attacked her from across the room, making her stomach sink as though there were a sack of rocks in it.

He bit his lip for a second and nodded. "Mind if I come sit with you?"

Ava scooted over on the bed and gently patted the space next to her in response. George pulled off his robes, leaving them in a crumpled pile on the floor, and perched himself on the edge of the bed. He pushed up his sleeves and undid the first button of his shirt before speaking again.

"Was he angry with you for coming?"

"He was more than angry, George. He was downright cruel. Pretty aggressive behavior, for a migraine." Her expression remained blank and her tone was neutral as she spoke, studying George's face for his reaction. A grin spread across his face, but it wasn't happy. It was sarcastic. Bitter.

"A migraine? Is that what he told you, eh? He's a real git."

"Oh," she said, leaning to the side and sticking her hand under the mattress. "And he was kind enough to give me these. Threw them at me, actually."

_Curiosity. Dread._

"He threw these at you?" George gasped as Ava spread out the six photos across the mattress.

"Yep."

_Embarrassment. Disappointment._

He stared at each photo briefly before finally looking up and meeting Ava's eyes. "He hurt you. I can tell you're trying to pretend he didn't. Deflect with a few jokes and a glazed look on your face, Fred does the same thing." He laughed softly, humorlessly, and shook his head.

Ava stayed silent, and although the six photos were spread out before her, her own included, she forced her eyes to avoid looking at them. She knew if she did look—everyone's smiling faces, everyone so full of life before everything that had happened—she would fall apart again.

George took a deep breath in and released it slowly, hitching himself up on the bed a little more comfortably and sitting cross-legged. "I'm disappointed that he treated you the way he did, but I can't say I'm surprised, either. I knew by asking you to go I was sort of tossing you into the snake pit but I really thought he'd let you in. It was a gamble, and I guess it was a stupid one. I'm sorry."

_Regret. So much regret._

Ava narrowed her eyes in curiosity. "You said that last night, too. That you thought I'd be able to get through to him, for some special reason. Can I ask you why you're saying that?"

George picked at a stray thread poking out of the fluffy white duvet. "There's just…something between the two of you. Hanging in the air. Like an invisible thread…" He shook his head and started over. "He's my twin," he said shortly. "I know him better than anyone else, so I know him well enough to see the change in him when he's around you, or how he was this entire past week every night he came home after being here. With you. It's like…there's just this unspoken connection the two of you share. As though you understand one another completely, without technically knowing each other well enough to do so yet."

Ava raised her eyebrows. "He said that?"

"No. He doesn't need to."

_Truth._

They stared at each other for a few moments in silence, before George finally met Ava's eyes again.

"I know it's not my place to tell you how to feel, but I'm asking you to not let his behavior be the judgment call on him, as a person. When he's sick, he just turns into this enormous monster, a gigantic asshole—"

Ava interrupted him by rolling her eyes and hitting her hand on the mattress. "Cut the crap, George. Enough. Stop saying he's sick. I know he's more than just sick, and I know it's more than a migraine."

George stared back at her, studying her face as though he were trying to decide whether or not to tell her something. Ava reached forward and touched the edge of his hand gently.

"If you want me to help him," she said softly, "you need to tell me what's going on."

He stared for another second before nodding a little. "Did Fred tell you about what happened to him about four years ago? After the battle we fought with the rest of the Order?" He looked out the screen wall as he spoke, absentmindedly transfixed on the branches that surrounded them.

"He told me he had a near-death experience, but I don't know the details behind it."

"It was more than near-death, Ava. It was the closest to death one could possibly be, and no one thought he was going to make it. The first night he was in the hospital, I stayed in his room, just watching over him. And I had some people from the Ministry, and Gringott's—the bank—swarming me, urging me to compose a will for him and get his affairs in order before he _actually _died."

"Holy shit," she whispered.

"Yeah. It was by far, the worst night of my life. I wanted to stay awake through the night to watch over him, and at one point I guess I just drifted off. I woke up in such a panic, thinking he had probably died overnight and I was sitting beside his dead body. I had three separate Healers come in just to make sure he was still breathing."

_Sadness, curling and crashing forward through the space between them like ocean waves_. Ava gulped and steadied herself, closing her eyes for a moment and letting it pass.

"Anyway," George continued. "He stayed in the hospital for six months. Six months and nine days, to be exact. He was comatose for the first six days, and blind for a week after that until his eyes healed. Then, it took him more than a month to be able to sit up and lay back down in bed on his own. Walking, well that was another nightmare. I can't tell you how many mornings I arrived to his room to find him in a crumpled pile on the floor because he had tried to get himself out of bed without any help."

"He's prideful," Ava whispered, suddenly understanding. "He must have been humiliated."

"Humiliated doesn't even begin to describe it. He was destroyed, Ava."

She nodded tightly. "And now?"

George sighed, rubbing his hair again. "Now, the magic that more or less put him back together, and holds him together to this day, wavers sometimes. It's from too much physical exertion in a short period of time. It's like his body can't keep up with itself, so he weakens for a few days until he can recover again. And this past week, I dunno, I guess I should've seen it coming. It's been too much for him. We did a complete overhaul of the shop last Friday, then we got our asses thoroughly kicked in the alleyway by Rat-Man, then we came running through the forest with you to bring you here…the past couple days, I kept seeing his hand shake while we were at work. That's always been one of the earliest warning signs that it's starting to happen. But he puts on a brave face for as long as he can until it's unbearable."

"And then he's bedridden."

George nodded.

_More sadness. Hopelessness. Desperation._

"You wish you could help him, don't you?" Ava whispered.

He laughed again, bitterly. "Of course I do."

_Useless. Helpless._

"Do you have anything I can make some markings with? Something bold, preferably," she suddenly asked.

George's face flashed with confusion. "Erm…here, use this," he said, muttering something and handing her his wand. The tip glowed a matte red.

"Thanks," she murmured back, taking it and holding it down at the end like an oversized quill. George watched her as she leaned forward and began making marks across each of the six photos that were still spread out before them, his eyes widening.

"What…what are you doing?"

She finished, handing his wand back to him and composing the papers into a neat pile and sighing. "He didn't give up on me. I'm returning the favor. I'm not giving up on him," she replied, swinging her legs off the bed and standing.

George sprang to his feet as well and hurriedly collected his robes from the floor. "You're going back?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm going back." She collected the papers, pushed her feet into her boots and began the descent down the spiral staircase to the first level. She heard George behind her closely.

When they reached the bottom floor, they walked in silence side by side to the fireplace, and paused before it. George stood across from her awkwardly for a moment before quite suddenly leaping forward and embracing her tightly.

"Thank you," he whispered down to her. She patted his back and he released her, then reached forward and ruffled her hair at the top of her head teasingly the way a boy would do to his kid sister.

She smiled back at him and stepped in front of the mantle, collecting a pile of Floo powder from the small pot resting on the shelf.

"Hey Ava?" George suddenly interjected as she poised her hand to toss the powder in.

"Yeah?"

George raised his right arm in the air, his hand curled in a fist, as though he were about to lead a charge and announce a battle cry. "Badass," he said in a low voice, nodding once. A small smile played around his lips.

She laughed. "Badass," she repeated back at him, nodding, and stepped into the flames.

* * *

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* * *

Fred was almost positive that he heard soft footsteps coming down the hallway as he lay curled in bed in an extreme fetal position. But then again, it was Friday evening, he hadn't eaten or drank anything since Thursday morning, and he had just taken five Dinwiddle Blossoms at once in desperation. So he reasoned that he very well could be imagining things.

His eyelids felt heavy, as though there were weights dragging them down, and he drifted in and out of consciousness, although he evaded an actual, restful sleep. Everything around him appeared fuzzy and time felt as though it were moving in slow motion, but his legs jumped around rapidly and uncontrollably under the blanket as pain attacked them.

He was aware of a slight depression tugging at the edge of the mattress, and a soft, cooling sensation spreading over his forehead. He fought hard to open his eyes and adjust his vision normally.

There she was, sitting on the edge of his bed, half turned towards him with her lower back touching his knees. Her arm was extended and Fred realized her hand was pressing a cold washcloth to his forehead.

"Ava," he moaned hoarsely. His eyes began to close again but he forced them open. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming of her again, like back in the meadow, or high out of his mind from overdosing on the Dinwiddles, because the last remaining sunlight of the day streamed through the window perfectly to frame her, sort of dreamily. Her blonde hair reflected the light and appeared to glow a little. Delicate bits of dust floated through the air, surrounding her like a halo.

"Am I dreaming?" he forced out, his tongue feeling heavy and his words slurring.

Am amused smile appeared on her face. "No Fred. You're not dreaming. Not this time."

"Ah. Okay. Good." His voice sounded odd to his own ears, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, willing the high from the flowers to wear off and desperately searching for his brain to find a sober place.

"Good?" she asked, still sounding amused. "You don't want me to leave?"

He shook his head, wagging it back and forth on the pillow, and licked his lips slowly. "No. I don't want you to leave."

She reached forward to the bedside table and settled back, holding a glass with pumpkin juice that was dripping in icy condensation, and removed her other hand from his forehead to let the compress rest there.

"Come on, drink this," she whispered. Her free hand tucked under the back of his head and lifted it slightly for him as she pressed the edge of the cup to his lips. He suddenly realized how thirsty he actually was and gulped down the entire glass greedily.

"Good," she muttered, and he heard the clink of the glass as she replaced it back on the table. The compress on his forehead was gently turned over so the fresh side was against his skin.

The juice was enough to wake him up more and bring him down from his high. He blinked several times, letting his vision adjust, and took a deep breath before looking up at her. She was smiling gently.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked her, his voice still scratchy. "I was a monster to you."

Ava's smile fell slightly but she didn't break away from their eye contact. "Because you did the same for me when I laid in the hospital telling you that you should have just left me to die," she replied softly, delicately. The glow around her turned orange as the sun outside began to set. "You could have left and forgotten about me. But you didn't. You saved me. So here I am, for you."

"I'm sorry for what I did to you," he choked out, tears pricking his eyes. Between his vulnerable and pathetic state and the leftover high from the Dinwiddles, his emotions were hyper-sensitive and exaggerated. He was vaguely aware he felt slightly embarrassed. "And I'm sorry I have to keep saying I'm sorry. I feel like I keep hurting you. I'm not supposed to be hurting you. You're my charge."

She silenced his babbling with a shake of her head, and her thumb passed over the compress, lightly massaging his forehead. "It's okay," she whispered.

They remained in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, until her eyes traveled to his legs as they continued flinching under the covers.

"You're twitching in pain, aren't you?" she muttered, her brows furrowed together as she stared at them.

Fred squeezed his eyes shut as a particularly nasty jolt of pain traveled from his right hip down to his toes. "Yeah," he choked out.

Ava's gaze stayed on his legs, then she suddenly removed the compress from his forehead. She took a deep breath and locked her eyes with his. "I-I want to try something," she said, her voice sounding cautious. "I've never tried it before and I don't know if it'll work. But I want to try."

"What is it?"

She studied his face for another minute before wordlessly reaching forward and cupping the sides of his head in each of her hands. She cradled it gently, and closed her eyes, her fingers gently caressing his hair that was still moist with sweat.

"What are you doing?"

But Ava didn't answer. Her hands on his head began to tremble, just slightly, and her eyes that were previously just resting closed squeezed shut tighter, her entire face screwed up in concentration.

"Ava?"

She didn't answer again, but she didn't need to. The pain in his legs suddenly waned, the urge to twitch them quieted. The fog that still clung to the inside of his head cleared and he breathed out a whoosh of air, his chest finally releasing its tension. He didn't feel completely normal, the pain and discomfort and deep ache that seemed to penetrate right down to his bones remained, but it was suddenly lessened. Bearable.

Her face relaxed and her eyes opened slowly, but her hands remained on the sides of his head. Fred noticed her chest rising and falling rapidly, as though she were panting a little.

"What did you do?" he asked in a whisper.

"I…I thought that maybe I could take some of your pain away," she said breathlessly. "I've never tried it before…but I reasoned that since the sensation of discomfort is sent to your brain…I mean you feel it in your body, but it's coming from your brain, really…I thought maybe I could…get in there and pull it out. Pull it into me, and then release it. The way I do with people's emotions. Did it work?" She finished with a tone of discomfort to her voice, her face riddled with uncertainty.

Fred just stared at her in amazement. "Yeah," he said nodding rapidly. "Yeah, it worked."

She smiled down at him and her hands remained where they were, her thumbs resuming their journey back and forth across his temples. She relaxed her reach and her forearms rested on his bare chest, raising and lowering as he breathed evenly.

They stared at each other quietly, cautious smiles on their faces, not knowing quite what to say. Then, she suddenly pulled away and got to her feet, nervously adjusting her far too large clothes.

"Don't leave," he pleaded. "I've been laying here naked and sweating for two days, I know I must stink like a rotting corpse, but please don't leave. Not yet."

She shook her head. "I'm not leaving. I'm going to the kitchen to make you some food. I'll be right back. Promise."

After she turned and exited the room, Fred stared after her, gazing at the empty doorway she had just left out of. Something white caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and he reached forward to the bedside table. It was a stack of paper, and as Fred brought it over to his lap, he realized with a sinking feeling they were the six printed out photographs he had thrown at her the night before.

But something was different about them. She had marked each of them, with some sort of matte red ink.

"What in the world…" he murmured to himself. Gentle clanging of cookware traveled down the hall from the kitchen as he set the pages down on the bed, first fanning them like an oversized deck of cards, then, realizing what she had done to them, hurriedly sorted them into an upside-down pyramid shape.

The top row was the pictures of Steven Farr, Sarah Serrano, and Jason Thomas. Each of them had a red X drawn across their faces.

Below, he had sorted the two photos of Callaghan Forrester and Annie 'Fox' Wu. Each had a large red question mark scrawled across theirs.

And then, at the bottom, alone, was Ava's photo. It was unmarked.

She had categorized them, and had revealed precious information about their whereabouts to Fred without having to say anything at all.

The top three—dead.

The middle two—unkown.

And Ava—the only one they could be certain about was alive and free.

"Sebastian!" he suddenly called out. He and George's owl came soaring into his bedroom and landed gracefully on the edge of his bed, parchment and a quill grasped in its talons.

"I need you to deliver one of these to each of the Order members," he muttered, scrawling hurried invitations on separate bits of paper. "I'm calling for a meeting. Tomorrow night. We're doing something about this."


	14. Chapter 14--Portrait

**Author's notes: Thank you all so much for reading!**

**I finally got around to editing my very own customized cover for this story. Do you guys like it? I'm really happy with it.**

**I would really appreciate some more reads and reviews on the short one-shot I uploaded last week, A Dog and His Giant. Take a look, if you can?**

**Thanks again for reading Resurgence, I'd love to see your reviews!**

**Chapter 14—Portrait **

"He's late."

Ron's voice broke through the rare silence of the Burrow as he, Hermione, Ginny, Harry, George, Neville, and McGonagall waited for Fred Saturday night. He leaned against the kitchen counter with crossed arms and his tone was irritated and impatient. His eyes bore into George as he spoke, as though he was blaming him for his twin's lack of punctuality.

George rolled his eyes exaggeratedly as he sipped from his teacup and placed it back down on the long kitchen table. "He called the meeting for seven o'clock, you sharp little observer. It's seven-oh-five."

Ron shrugged in an 'I-don't-know-what-to-tell-you' type fashion, and hitched one side of his mouth up in a smirk. "Late is late."

George chose to ignore his momentarily increasingly annoying younger brother and observed the rest of the room's inhabitants. Harry and Ginny sat across from one another at the table playing cards, Hermione stood at the kitchen counter drying dishes after they finished magically washing themselves in the sink, Neville was in the sitting room observing a potted plant that had been dead for so long its leaves were rather crispy, and McGonagall crouched before the fireplace, poking the logs with her wand to start a fire.

"Where is everyone else?" George asked out loud to no one in particular. "Wasn't this supposed to be an official Order meeting? Ginny, where's Mum and Dad?"

"They're out to dinner with friends," Ginny muttered back, not moving her gaze from the deck of cards in her hand.

George raised his eyebrows. "They skipped an Order meeting for dinner with friends?"

Ginny sighed and finally lifted her eyes from her and Harry's card game. "They had it planned ages ago. It's their yearly reunion with their school mates, they do this every year, remember? Be fair George, Fred called this meeting kind of last minute."

Ginny was correct in that aspect; they'd all only received the summons by owl the night before. But he couldn't help but think about the previous Saturday night meeting, exactly one week ago, the day after he and Fred had first encountered Rat-Man and Ava. That had been a last minute meeting as well, and yet every member had managed to attend.

He frowned. "And everyone else? Bill and Fleur, Percy and Audrey, Charlie, Vladimir, Hagrid, Kingsley, Luna, Lee? What about them?"

"Luna's tending to her Dad, he's ill," Neville piped up, still studying the dead plant.

"Bill and Fleur couldn't get anyone to watch the baby, I know that," Hermione offered over her shoulder. "No idea about Percy and Audrey or Charlie and Vladimir though."

"Hagrid is dealing with the aftermath of a wonderful little prank over at Hogwarts," McGonagall said stiffly, rising to her feet and straightening out her emerald green robes. "Some charming students have released things called Disappearing Giant Earthworms throughout all the girl's bathrooms. They've caused quite the explosion of adolescent female hysteria. The students said they got the creatures from a shop somewhere in Diagon Alley…George Weasley, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" she asked, looking at George over the top of her glasses.

George used every bit of willpower he had not to grin proudly at his and Fred's legacy carrying on at Hogwarts through students' brilliant use of their shop products, shrugging and shaking his head in feigned cluelessness instead. "I haven't the faintest idea," he said lightly. "Harry, what about Kingsley?"

"I dunno, I'm not the man's keeper," Harry responded, slapping a couple of cards down on the table excitedly and darting his hand forward to take more from the deck. "He's the Minister of Magic, George. He's probably busy. Doing Minister things."

"That's very helpful," George said dryly. He glanced at his wristwatch and couldn't help but sigh a little. 7:07.

"Why are we meeting here, anyway?" Ron complained. "We built the Treehouse so we didn't have to have cramped meetings in here anymore."

"Because Ava's staying in the Treehouse, Ron, and she's not part of the Order," said Hermione, shooting her husband an annoyed look.

Ron rolled his eyes and crammed a pastry taken from a platter on the kitchen table into his mouth. "So?" he questioned, his voice muffled and crumbs falling out form between his lips. His cheeks were so stuffed with his oversized bite he was beginning to resemble a chipmunk. "She's staying at the third level, isn't she? She can stay up there while we meet on the first like we usually do."

"That's kind of rude though Ron," Ginny interjected. "What were we supposed to tell her, to go sit in her room like a good little girl and cover her ears while we sit below her, discussing her, and she can't be part of it?"

"Or we can just have her move here to the house, to one of the empty bedrooms, and we can have our meeting space back. Makes sense, yeah?"

"Ron," George said loudly, his face wild with irritation. "Are you really going to pitch a fit over this? Yes, she needs to stay in the Treehouse. She's our charge, and _we The Order_ need to keep her safe. Why do I need to even explain this to you? You're a shit Auror, you know that? The Treehouse is one of the safest places around, other than Hogwarts. You know this." He spoke testily and slowly, resembling the way a parent attempts to teach a small child a moral lesson while trying to keep their temper under control.

"_I know we need to keep her safe, George,"_ Ron shot back, straightening from his leaning position and standing tall. "I saw her myself last week, she looked like she'd had the ever-loving shit beaten out of her several times over, so yes, I know she needs the protection. I'm not arguing that point, and don't speak to me like I'm an imbecile, thank you very much."

"You are an imbecile, you're welcome," George said, rising to his feet from the table and matching Ron's stance. "And what exactly _are_ you arguing, then? Do you even know?"

George suddenly realized everyone else in the room had gone completely silent and still, and they were all staring back and forth between him and Ron. He could only hear the merry crackle of the fireplace and the faint sounds of his own and Ron's slightly elevated breathing.

Ron took a long pause before responding. "Maybe Fred shouldn't be Heading this mission," he said rather quietly.

George crossed his arms on his chest. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Ron replied in the same soft but serious tone of voice. "I knew it was a bad idea from the moment I heard he was Head. I don't think he should be doing it. He's not ready."

"Ron, come on mate, stop," Harry urged. "Everyone's been Head of a mission so far. Even Vladimir, he's only been in the Order, what, six months? And Ginny too, she's the youngest and she's been Head twice."

"That's not what I'm talking about, Ginny and Vlad were fine!" Ron said, waving his hand dismissively.

"And what, Ron?" George challenged, taking a step closer to his brother. "Ginny and Vlad were fine, what does that make Fred? Go on, say your bit, might as well finish what you started!"

"Not fine! He's not fine, okay? Merlin, am I going to be the only one saying it out loud? He's not right, and he hasn't been for a long time, everyone can see it! Even the blind bloke who scoops ice cream at Florean Fortescue's can probably see it, for that matter."

"Watch yourself, Ron," George warned.

"No, actually, you're right, I think I will finish what I started," Ron responded, his voice aloof. "Fred shouldn't be Heading a mission of this much importance with the shape that he's in, physically and mentally. There. I said it, cards are laid out."

"Physically?" Neville suddenly asked aloud in confusion. "What does he mean, George? Is Fred alright?"

"Fred's fine," George snapped, not taking his eyes off of Ron, who, infuriatingly enough, threw his head back in sarcastic laughter.

"ACTUALLY Neville, no, Fred is NOT fine," Ron nearly yelled, the sarcastic grin still splashed across his face. "I think it's time everyone was let in on Fred's dirty little secret! He suffers from chronic debilitating pain, and has gotten himself into quite the nasty cycle, as a matter of fact!"

"Ron, if you know what's good for you, you will shut that gaping hole in the middle of your face!" George yelled back, jabbing his finger close to Ron's chest.

Ron slapped George's hand aside, and Hermione gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. "He lays in bed for days on end, unable to move!" Ron exclaimed loudly to the room. George took another step forward, completely closing the distance between the two of them, and Ron jumped to the side, dancing out of George's way. George followed him across the kitchen, but Ron continued to back away as he continued speaking.

"And THEN, when he feels better, he goes out drinking and whoring! That's right, you heard me ladies and gentlemen, good old Fred, the one we apparently handed the reins to for this mission, uses booze and his groin on a regular basis to make all of the ugly feelings go away!"

"You little—" George started, and took a swing at Ron. The whole room gasped collectively and Ginny and Harry jumped to their feet as well but didn't move away from their spots beside the table. Ron was quick though, and ducked under George's fist before straightening up again and dancing to the side.

"Boys, that is ENOUGH!" McGonagall exclaimed, her face white.

Ron ignored her. "Is that answer satisfactory to you, George? That I don't want Fred Heading this mission because I don't trust him yet? He's not a leader, he's a part time drunk, part time man-whore, and a part time cripple!"

George swung at Ron again, and this time, the punch had more meaning and intent than its previous attempt. His fist landed squarely in the middle of Ron's cheek, making a dull thudding sound, and Ron involuntarily grunted as his head whipped to the side from the force of the blow.

"Stop it, stop it, that's enough!" Hermione screamed as Ron crumpled to the floor, but she remained frozen against the kitchen counter, one hand over her heart and the other wrapped protectively around her pregnant belly.

George lunged forward and grabbed the front of Ron's shirt in his fists, dragging him to his feet and pulling him close. So close, in fact, their noses were nearly touching. George panted heavily in rage, his mouth curled into what most closely resembled a snarling dog as he looked at Ron in disgust.

"Don't you EVER—" he shook Ron, hard, "EVER," shook him again, "talk about my brother like that EVER again, do you FUCKING HEAR ME?" And, with astonishing strength, he more or less tossed Ron in the air away from him. Ron's body slammed down on top of the kitchen table as Ginny screamed in surprise, and he slid all the way across it, tumbling off the other end and ending up on the floor again. The platter that been holding pastries clattered to the ground and instantly shattered, and the deck of cards that Harry and Ginny had been playing with fluttered through the air gracefully.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, waddling forward and crouching beside her husband. Ron didn't bother standing; he remained on his back, propped up on his elbows, looking up at George in bewilderment as George stood over him, his hands curled into fists and fuming.

Ron waved Hermione away as though she were a fruit fly bothering him in the air. "_Your_ brother? _Your_ brother, that's a joke, right? You're allowed to actually side with me for once, I'm your brother too!" he exclaimed, his voice betraying more hurt than he probably meant to.

"Not right now, you're not," George growled. He fought the urge to land a kick on Ron's side as he lay under him, but decided against it, and turned on his heel. He flung open the side door and headed outside, striding down the dirt drive in no particular direction at all as he panted, attempting to cool down.

"That was really low, Ron!" he heard Ginny cry out behind him. He continued forward, delicate clouds of dust rising up around his feet as he stomped on. He was vaguely aware of his hand aching from slamming into Ron's face.

"George?"

George's stomach dropped at the familiar voice as he suddenly stumbled to a stop and turned to his left to see Fred standing there. He had a single eyebrow raised and was looking back and forth between his twin and the house.

"Fred!" he exclaimed, and stood before him awkwardly. Fred looked good, great, in fact, much improved to how he'd last observed him—Thursday morning, grey pallor-ed, sweaty, and shaking, shouting at him to go to Angelina's for a few days and leave him alone. "How long have you been standing there?" he suddenly asked him, panicked he had overheard the whole row from outside.

"As of now I'd say about nine seconds," Fred replied, a grin starting to spread across his face but confusion in his eyes. "Just Apparated. What's going on?"

"What?"

"Don't 'what' me, George. You look like you're on a bloody warpath."

George felt himself still panting slightly but couldn't help immediately calming at the sight of his twin so…healthy looking. The rage from his fight with Ron seemingly melted away as he observed Fred—he had color to his face, he was wearing clean clothes, and he stood tall with no signs of tremor or pain. The sun was setting and the open sky around them glowed orange, framing Fred as gnats whizzed around the top of his hair. In that moment, his twin looked like his old self. Happy. And whole.

He couldn't help it; George found himself nearly leaping forward and crushing Fred against him in an embrace, clapping him on the back heartily.

"It's good to see you," he whispered, squeezing him.

"It's good to see you too you pathetic sap, George, you're crushing me—"

George found himself grinning as he released his twin and stepped back. "You look brilliant," he said breathlessly, nodding.

"It's taken twenty-four years for you to realize what a handsome devil I am, eh? Better late than never." Fred smirked as he joked, but there was a look of understanding in his eyes that only George would have ever been able to see. He knew that Fred comprehended exactly what he was referring to. He looked healthy.

"That's not what I—"

"I know what you meant," Fred interjected, nodding once and reaching forward to clap George on the shoulder. "Let's head inside, shall we? I'm already late enough as is."

As they neared the house, a pit of dread settled in George's stomach at the thought of the aftermath of his and Ron's row. He found himself silently praying everyone had the grace to let it go for the night and pretend as though it never happened.

When he and Fred swung open the side door and stepped inside, it was just as awkward as George suspected it to be. Everyone ceased their talking and went silent; Ginny froze in place as she swept up a pile of pastries mingling with shards of porcelain. Hermione was absent from the scene and Ron stood back in his original place leaning on the kitchen counter, holding a towel full of ice to the side of his face.

Fred and George stood in the silence for a few moments while everyone marveled at one another, wondering what to say or do. Fred suddenly let out a low whistle.

"Well, you can certainly cut the tension in this room with a knife," he said loudly.

Everyone continued staring, not saying a word. George loathed the way they were all gaping at Fred; he knew the information they had just received from Ron was undoubtedly reeling in their minds and they looked at his twin as though he were a different person. As though they didn't even know him.

Fred held up his hands in a surrender-type stance. "Don't everyone leap up and say hello all at once."

Murmurs of _hi _and _hello Fred_ passed around the room as they all took their seats around the kitchen table.

"Where's Hermione?" asked George, looking at everyone beside Ron.

"She wasn't feeling well," Ginny said softly. "She said the baby was upset and doing somersaults."

"Why don't you go tend to your wife, Ronniekins?" Fred asked, laughing and punching Ron on the arm playfully. "She's probably about to go give birth in the toilet all by her lonesome."

Ron visibly, gulped, hard, his face riddled with guilt at Fred's friendliness towards him, unknowing what Ron had just said about him minutes earlier.

"She…doesn't want me…right now," he choked out.

"Hm," said Fred, nodding in consideration. "She's finally come to her senses, has she?"

"Let's start the meeting," Harry suddenly said, a little too heartily. A fake, crooked grin was plastered across his face.

Fred threw his hands up in the air. "Where is everyone? Is this it for tonight? Am I missing something?"

"No," said George, Ginny, and Harry simultaneously. McGonagall and Neville shifted in their seats uncomfortably and Ron remained silent, staring down at the table.

Their meeting finally commenced, although awkwardly. Fred spread out all of the printed out news articles from the library across the table, explaining his, George's and Harry's findings.

"It says here Ava originally disappeared from a nightclub in London November 1998," said Ginny, frowning to herself as she read one of the articles. "Aren't Muggle places like that filled with recording cameras? I remember Dad used to collect the ones discarded by Muggle security companies."

"That's part of the issue with her investigation, actually," said Fred, brandishing a different article. Ginny took it from his hand and began skimming it as he continued talking. "Last camera footage of her from that night shows her going to the restroom. She stumbles quite a bit, and witnesses say she appeared heavily intoxicated. But her friends contest that. They say she was barely drinking."

"What does that have to do with the camera footage?" asked Neville.

"She went to the restroom and never came out," replied Fred firmly.

Everyone looked at him, even Ron, confusion and surprise across their faces.

"Say that again, Weasley?" McGonagall inquired, her voice doubtful.

George nodded. "Fred is right. That's what's been driving Muggle authorities mad over this, actually. There's footage of her entering the restroom, and that's the last time she was seen that night. And it's the same with all the others."

"The rest of the American Six, you mean?" Ginny asked, pointing to the TIME Magazine article.

Fred nodded along with his twin. "Yeah. I mean, not all of them disappeared in nightclubs, but the common thread in all of their disappearances is they vanished while in the toilet."

"Merlin, if this wasn't so maddening and tragic we would have unbelievable joke material right now," said George, smirking and elbowing Fred.

Fred sighed dramatically in agreeance. "A monster that lives in the toilet, perhaps?"

"Has tentacles."

"Hides in the U-Bend."

"Waiting."

"For you to pull your knickers down and have a sit."

"Reaches out, grabs you right around the—"

"We get it, boys," said McGonagall sternly, interrupting the twins animated banter.

"Alright, alright," said Fred. He reached under him and pulled some paper from his seat pocket that he had rolled into a tube. "There's one more thing. Ava showed these to me yesterday. Obviously she's trying to tell us something without having to actually _tell_ us and break the vow." He took out his wand and tapped the papers, snapping them back into their original form to lay flat.

George and the others leaned forward to observe what turned out to be the large pictures of the American Six's faces, recognizing them as the ones she had used his wand to mark with red.

"She sorted them," Harry muttered, staring down at the images.

Fred nodded. "And these two," he said, pointing to Callaghan Forrester and Annie 'Fox' Wu, their faces marred with question marks, "are unknown. Which means maybe we can recover them. It would just _really_ help to know where or who or what from." He shook his head to himself, chewing on his bottom lip, visibly frustrated. "We need to do something," he muttered.

"Professor," said Harry, glancing over to McGonagall. "Has anything ever…_happened_, with the Americans? Before this, I mean."

"What are you referring to, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno…when we were in the hospital last week and the subject came up, Arthur Weasley said once or twice a year an American official comes to the Ministry, doesn't stay long, and leaves looking like they have their feathers ruffled."

"Hey, yeah," Ron piped up, suddenly sitting up straighter. "And he said American magical kids don't have a school to learn at. Why weren't they just invited to come to Hogwarts? Dumbledore wouldn't have minded."

George begrudgingly thought to himself that Ron had a point. Dumbledore seemed to enjoy nothing more than watching children learn and flourish; surely he would have offered an open invitation—

"Oh, he did mind. Quite a bit actually," said McGonagall quietly.

Or not.

"What do you mean, Professor?" asked Neville.

"Truthfully," she began, "I don't know as much as I'd like to know. The details are unbeknownst to me, but in the time spent with Albus, I noticed he…bristled, every time the subject was mentioned."

"American magical children coming to learn?" Harry pressed.

She nodded. "Yes. The idea was presented to him more than once. And, like you, I thought he would have jumped for joy at the idea. But Albus was very firm in not wanting any of them at Hogwarts. His eyes told me there was a story behind it all, but now, after his passing…" She sighed heavily. "The story is lost."

"But he was famous for his journal-keeping, wasn't he, Professor?" asked Ginny, her head cocked to one side in curiosity. "He probably has his story written down somewhere. Don't you have all of his old journals?"

"Yes, I do," said McGonagall gravely. "All four-hundred and forty-six of them."

The rest of the table collectively groaned.

"We can't go rifling through them all hoping to fall upon a certain subject, that'll take ages!" George exclaimed, sitting back in his chair in defeat and rubbing his face with his hands.

"Well…we can always just…ask him."

The room went quiet and everyone turned to look at Neville, who had spoken the suggestion.

"Ask him?" Ron asked, his eyebrows raised.

Neville nodded. "Yeah. We can ask him ourselves."

"Oh, Neville," said Fred, reaching out and wrapping his arm around Neville's shoulders. "You are such a sweet, simple minded boy. Let me tell you a tale. Once upon a time, on a tower very high up, a man named Dumbledore took a spill—"

Neville shook Fred's arm off, shooting him a filthy look. "I know he's dead, you don't need to remind me. I was referring to his portrait. I mean, he's in there, isn't he?"

The room was quiet again as they all stared at Neville in consideration. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. "I go in there…into your office, sometimes," he said, looking at McGonagall, his voice barely a whisper. "To talk to him. When the Herbology students are giving me a hard time. He…he gives good advice."

"Neville, that's…that's kind of brilliant," Harry said, grinning and clapping his friend on the shoulder.

"Good thinking, Longbottom," said McGonagall in a low voice, tilting her chin towards him.

Neville smiled back, looking relieved, and George took notice of Fred at his side rising to his feet.

"Well, no time like the present," Fred announced. "Let's go."

"Now?" George asked incredulously.

Fred rolled his eyes. "Do you have other plans? I told you, I want to do something about this. I can't keep looking at these peoples' faces and…" he trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the photos of the smiling faces on the table. "I can't just sit around anymore. We need to move forward."

Everyone nodded and murmured in agreement, rising to their feet as well.

"I'll stay home with Hermione," said Ron, tossing his ice pack into the sink.

"No, Ron, you can't," said Harry. "Do you know what Kingsley would do if he found out one of the only two Aurors of the group stayed behind?"

George's insult he had thrown at Ron echoed in his head. _'You're a shit Auror, you know that?'_

Ron rolled his eyes. "Harry, she's my wife, and she's pregnant, and hormonal. Do you know what _she'll _do when she founds out I've left her home alone while not feeling well?"

"I'll stay home with her," offered Ginny. "You all go on ahead, I'll take care of her."

Ron shifted his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets, muttering something.

"What? What did you say?" asked Ginny.

He looked around from face to face sheepishly, his face reddening. "I don't want anything to happen to the baby," he nearly whispered, his ears scarlet.

Ginny's face softened. "I'm not going to let anything happen to her or the baby, Ron. Go on ahead and do your job. She'll understand."

Chairs scraped against the floor as they were pushed back into place. Ginny waved over her shoulder as she headed upstairs to tend to Hermione, and McGonagall stood before the Weasley's fireplace, Floo powder already in hand.

"Hogwarts," she said clearly before disappearing into the flames.

Neville, Ron, and then Harry followed after her until it was only Fred and George remaining behind.

"The school bell's are ringing."

"And the gargoyles are singing."

"Wonder if we can squeeze in a moment to go terrorize Filch."

"He's going to take one look at us back there and resign."

"Hopefully."

"Probably."

The twins beamed at one another, grinning. George offered the crook of his arm, which Fred looped his own through.

"Ready Fred?"

"Ready George."

* * *

"So are you going to tell me what happened before I arrived?" Fred whispered to George.

"Nothing happened."

"George, do not lie to me, young man."

"Nothing happened."

"_George!_"

"_No!"_

"Will you boys," said McGonagall, pausing in her climb up the stone stairs at the forefront of the group and turning to look at Fred and George, "please stop hissing like a pit of pathetic, poisonous, petty, pythons?"

"Say, Professor," said Fred, leaning against the stone wall and stroking his chin in feigned thoughtfulness, "would you say that pits of pathetic, poisonous, petty, pythons are found in the same jungle as bands of babbling, bumbling, baboons?"

As torch light flickered upon her face, Fred could have sworn a hint of a blush crept into McGonagall's cheeks and a smile tugged at the edges of her mouth.

"Well played, Mr. Weasley," she said regally, nodding towards him and turning around to resume leading their journey to the office.

Harry looked over his shoulder at the twins, flashing them a grin. George responded with a military salute.

Fred tugged on George's sleeve gently, urging him to slow down so they would fall a few more steps behind the others.

"We've never hidden things from each other," Fred muttered to his twin. "Don't start now. The broken plate, Hermione's retreat, Ron's face looking like a raw slab of prime rib. You clocked him good, didn't you?"

They were momentarily separated as a ghost drifted towards them, whistling merrily. They jumped to the side, shuddering as its icy presence lingered in the air for a moment before resuming their trek up the staircase together.

George sighed. "Yeah, yeah I suppose I did."

Fred patted him on the back, grinning widely. "And they say _I'm_ the angrier twin. Good man. I'm sure he deserved it, didn't he? What'd he do?"

Fred noticed a look of discomfort flashing across George's face, as though he had a stomach ache, or had just taken a sip of sour milk.

"He was just being a _stupid, thoughtless ass_, like usual," George responded in a suddenly louder tone, projecting his voice upwards to the rest of the group. Ron looked over his shoulder, shooting George a filthy look, followed by McGonagall, who paused and turned again. George groaned.

"Mr. Weasley," she began, looking down her nose at the twins, "may I remind you that as Headmistress, this is my school, and I will not have language like that being echoed through the corridor. Do you understand?"

"'Ay, would ya take a look at that, Fred and George Weasley are back!" exclaimed one of the portraits against the wall, waving enthusiastically at the twins and sloshing his glass of wine everywhere. "'Ello, boys! 'Ay everyone, take a lookie down here, it's Fred and George Weasley!"

A chorus of excited muttering filled the air as the countless portraits spread across the walls began happily taking notice of the red-headed twins.

Ron scowled. "Oh don't mind me, Neville, and Harry here, we're only the ones who defeated the Dark Lord himself on these very grounds and saved the school from imploding!"

The portraits' exhilarated talk suddenly ceased. A witch wearing an eye patch sitting inside a silver gilded frame shot Ron a foul look before the voices and greetings to the twins started up again.

"Oh Freddie, it's just like old times!" George exclaimed, holding his heart dramatically as they began climbing the staircase again. "Us, in trouble, being lead to the Headmaster's—erm, Headmistresses office, waiting for imminent bad news and being wished luck by all the portraits!"

"_That's_ how they all know you so well?" Harry asked the twins incredulously over his shoulder.

"Oh Harry," said Fred, shaking his head dreamily as though remembering a fond memory, "you have no idea how many times we climbed this staircase to Dumbledore's office, listening to Filch making promises of our expulsion."

The six of them finally reached the top and stood before the gargoyle.

"You boys go ahead in," said McGonagall, tilting her head towards the gargoyle. "I need to go check in with Hagrid to see if he's fixed our _slimy_ little problem yet." She stared pointedly at George and waited at the other end of the platform until another staircase swung around to meet her, which she promptly stepped on to and traveled away.

"Slimy?" asked Fred.

"Oh yes Fred, remind me to tell you later," said George. "Apparently our Disappearing Giant Earthworms are an enormous success."

Neville stepped in front of the gargoyle. "Andromeda!" he called out, to which the gargoyle instantly responded and hopped aside, revealing the staircase.

"Andromeda?" asked Harry as they descended the steps. "What happened to the passwords being favorite sweets?"

"McGonagall's gone and changed the theme to something a bit more cerebral," Neville said over his shoulder. "Greek mythology characters now."

Neville pushed open the enormous wooden doors and the five of them stepped into Dumbledore's old office, now McGonagall's. It still strongly resembled what it had looked like back in his time as Headmaster, with slight changes—Fred took notice of a burgundy tartan runner across the desk, and Dumbledore's odd little whirring machines that had once lined the shelves of the wall were gone, replaced by what appeared to be McGonagall's collection of elaborate quills and inkwells.

"Good evening."

Although Fred had been expecting to hear Dumbledore's voice from his portrait tonight, the actual sound of it made him jump. He wasn't alone; George had a look on his face as though someone had dropped an ice cube down his shirt, and Ron and Harry stood beside Neville, gaping up at the portrait in a seemingly mild state of shock.

Neville waved cheerily up at Dumbledore, who, in his portrait, sat comfortably in a large, squishy armchair, his hands folded peacefully on his lap. "Hi Professor," he said.

Fred and George stepped forward to join the others, and sheepishly waved.

"Fred, George, Ronald," said Dumbledore, nodding down at them one by one. "And Harry," he said, his eyes resting on the last boy and his voice brimming with pride.

Harry gazed up at him in warm admiration. "Hello Professor," he said.

Dumbledore gently smiled. "I suspect this is not a visit for catch ups or pleasantries. If it is, I am flattered, and have all the time in the world. Although I can see, even in my oil-painted condition, there are ulterior motives. Mr. Weasley," he said, nodding down at Fred, "you look like you're about to jump clean out of your skin. It is not often that I've seen you anxious."

Fred smiled back at the portrait of the old Headmaster, and took a small step forward. "We…the Order, needs your help."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "As I thought you would, one day. How may I be of service?"

"It's…kind of a long story as to how we've become involved in the subject matter, but basically, we need as much information as you can provide us with about American involvement in magic. And why you didn't want their students here." Fred was aware of the way his own voice sounded different suddenly—more mature, more respectful than it usually did. Dumbledore had always brought that out in him, transformed him temporarily into the calmer version of himself.

Dumbledore's face was unreadable; he stayed neutral but nodded thoughtfully. "This story…it's riddled with mistrust, even anger. It's not an easy tale to tell."

"Please, Professor," pleaded Harry. "The Order really needs this information, and you're our only hope for gaining it right now. We don't know what else to do. Lives are at stake."

Dumbledore didn't answer at first, just gently removed his half-moon glasses and cleaned them on his blue robes. He replaced them back on his face and resumed looking down at Fred.

"Where would you like me to begin?"

"Where did it all start?" Fred whispered back. His heart pounded heavily in his chest in anticipation.

"It began in 1964," Dumbledore answered immediately. His voice was heavy and grave, and all five of them took a step closer to the portrait, hanging on to every word. "I had been Headmaster for eight years. I was asked to meet with two representatives from the United States. From The Department of the Unnatural, to be precise."

George wrinkled his nose. "The Department of the Unnatural? Is that like the American Ministry of Magic?"

Dumbledore surprised everyone by nearly snorting. "They do not have a Ministry, or an order, for their magic-folk. Magic, to them, is not a gift. It is a mutation."

"Mutation," Ron snorted back. "I'll give them a mutation, alright…"

Dumbledore smiled widely down at Ron and winked at him before continuing. "Before 1964, every single Headmaster of Hogwarts had been in touch with the Department of the Unnatural since its beginning, begging them to let their magical-born children attend Hogwarts. I remember my predecessor, Armando Dippet, being quite distraught over the whole thing, as was I in subsequent years. We had approval from the Ministry. Our doors were wide open to them. We wanted their children to come over here and learn to hone and nourish their skills. But the Americans weren't having it. They were firm in their belief that magic had no place in their society. They were also heavily untrustworthy of their citizens, and felt that society could not be trusted with magic. They feared an uprising, citing that since their leaders in government were not magical, once 'normal' citizens discovered magic, they would attempt to overthrow the order of things."

"But Professor," said Harry, "what I don't understand is that they knew about magic. They knew it existed. And at least a few of their government representatives had to be magical, right? I mean that's just luck of the draw. They didn't want to take advantage of it and learn how to control it? Even for their own government's benefit?"

Dumbledore's mouth twitched as though he were fighting a fit of sarcastic laughter. "The agents from the Department of the Unnatural were magical, of course. And they believed they needed no schooling. Needed no wands. Needed no spells. They believed they were self taught, and knew everything there was to know about magic. They thought we were just a bunch of overly enthusiastic loons."

"Did they actually perform magic?" Harry asked.

"They would occasionally make something levitate a bit, or change the color of their necktie. The ones they considered their _best _agents could do things like shatter bits of glass with the power of their mind." He suddenly let out genuine, hearty laughter, shaking his head and wiping teardrops from his eyes. "I remember one occasion while meeting with them, asking them to send their children over for school, Headmaster Dippet doing what's considered second-year magic. Their amazement! He made one of their handkerchiefs jump out of their pockets and do a tapdance across the desk. They nearly fainted."

"So you're saying they didn't actually know how far magic could go? Didn't know about potions, enchantments, even the fact that magic could go as far as to kill a person?" asked George, his eyebrows raised.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Mr. Weasley," replied Dumbledore. "They thought our dedication to the craft was an obsession with pish-posh. Saw us as more of a cult. They were very open with their feelings that they had no interest in pursuing any of it."

"What happened in 1964, Professor?" asked Fred, his arms crossed on his chest.

"Well, in November 1963, their President was assassinated. At the time, they were also in the midst of a rather messy war with the country of Vietnam. And, as time moved us into 1964, I suddenly became absolutely bombarded with pleas from the Department of the Unnatural to meet. Truth be told, I was curious. So we met. And it was the most drastic change in heart I have ever seen. Suddenly, they were quite desperate for us to begin accepting their magical children into Hogwarts. But only select magical children. Only their handpicked ones. They wouldn't explain why, or what made those certain ones more special than any others. And they were quite aggressive about it all. It wasn't pleasant."

"So what happened?" asked Neville.

Dumbledore sighed. "I turned them down. I was suspicious, to say the least. I had heard about their President and I had heard about their war, and now suddenly, they wanted up and coming generations to learn magic. Something wasn't sitting right with me. So, I did the only logical thing." His eyes twinkled behind his glasses and the hint of a smile played behind his beard. "I may or may not have brewed a Veritaserum, and invited them for another meeting, where they, immediately upon enjoying their ice-cold Butterbeers, let everything out in the open."

Fred fought the urge to jump straight through the portrait and shake the old man by his shoulders for talking so slowly.

"As it turns out," Dumbledore finally continued, "the magical children they wanted to pick to send to Hogwarts were children born to members of their military. They, in a desperate attempt to believe our control of magic was very, very real, had apparently reached out to soldiers known to have magic in their bloodlines, and offered them a deal. The deal was this: their children would be sent to Hogwarts, taken care of beautifully, and fully educated in the art of magic. Upon graduation, they would return to the United States, where they would be automatically enrolled in their military."

"Merlin," gasped George.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley. They were looking to build their own little magical…or should I say _unnatural_…army."

"Why all of a sudden? Why then, did they decide they wanted to believe?" Fred asked, his arms out to his sides in disbelief.

"Their war and the assassination of their President was the last straw for them, I believe. They felt as though they were losing control, and they were desperate to feel powerful once more. They planned to send the children here to learn, giving them explicit instructions to pay attention to certain subjects."

"Such as?" Fred pressed.

Dumbledore's chin rose slightly and his eyes narrowed. "Alterations of the brain, Mr. Weasley. Specifically, invasions of one's thoughts. And mind control. They were looking to create super-spies, if you will."

Fred felt the oddest sensation in his stomach then, as though he had accidentally swallowed an ice cube or two.

Ava, hypnotizing the Healers at St. Mungo's to cover her tracks.

Ava, visiting him in a dream.

Ava, holding his hands and looking back on his memories.

Ava, going deeply enough into his mind to remove the sensation of pain that was attacking him.

_Invasions of one's thoughts. And mind control._

Dumbledore continued. "Of course once I actually heard the truth about their intentions I denied them. They were angry, of course, but couldn't do anything about it. They'd been had. And the years ticked on…new Presidents, new wars. I would still occasionally get asked to admit American students to Hogwarts, and sometimes it seemed as though there were good intentions behind the request. Like their government wanted to turn over a new leaf and embrace magic. But I could never trust them again, and vowed to never allow American children inside the school, in fear they were being sent over here by their government in the hopes to learn dark magic of the mind. Obviously they were unaware we don't go around teaching our students Legilimency, or Occlumency, for that matter. Only in very, very, unique situations," he chuckled, and winked down to Harry.

But Harry, Neville, and George were all wearing identical expressions as Fred suspected he was himself. Frankly, they all looked like they were about to be sick.

"What?" asked Dumbledore, noticing everyone's visible discomfort. "What did I say?"

* * *

The next morning, Fred and George stood leaning against the broomstick shed behind the Burrow, absentmindedly staring into the woods before them. They had just finished a delicious Sunday breakfast with their family, and as they stood together in silence, facing the forest where the Treehouse was nestled, their minds reeled with everything they had learned yesterday.

"We can't keep doing this," Fred suddenly said quietly.

George turned to face his twin. "Doing what?"

Fred dug his heel into the ground, shaking his head. "Crawling with progress. Working with breadcrumbs of information. I'm tired of it, George."

George shrugged. "I'm tired of it too, but what else is there? We can't make Ava talk, we can't go asking the girl to kill her bloody parents."

"I know that," said Fred, biting the inside of his cheek and resting his hands on his hips. "You know what I wish? I wish we hadn't lost track of Rat-Man that night in the alley. He seems like he'd turn into a little bitch really quickly with some torture. I bet we could get him to talk."

George's eyes suddenly widened as he stared at Fred.

"Oh God," Fred said. "That look. You have an idea. You have an idea, don't you?"

"Fred," said George excitedly, "that's it. Rat-Man. He's our best bet right now, the closest link we have to Ava!"

"Right," replied Fred. "We should've invited him over for bacon and eggs today and asked him to have a chat. Why didn't we think of this before?"

"Shut up. I'm talking about Ava. Rat-Man wants Ava. We could use her to get to him!"

A beat of silence passed between them as Fred gaped at his twin. "What?" he asked, cupping a hand around his ear. "Say that again? I mustn't have heard you correctly, I could have sworn you just said you want to use our protective charge _as bait_—"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," said George, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I mean, really Fred, what other choice do we have? She's our best shot at capturing him, making him talk!"

"No," said Fred firmly. "Absolutely not."

"Why? We've done loads more dangerous stuff before! And we know he doesn't want to kill her, he would have when he had the chance in the alley. But he doesn't for some reason. Just wants to…incapacitate her."

"Yes, dangerous stuff for _us_, George. Not for someone else, and not for the general public. What if other random innocents get hurt, or even killed? We know he won't kill her, but what about passerby? Think about what happened to that girl Ryan!"

George was silent for a moment, and just stared into his twin's eyes intensely. "Then answer me, Fred. What other choice do we have?"

Fred stared back at him, knowing he had no answer.

"You know I'm right," George said softly.

"I said no," Fred replied.

George stared back at him with a single eyebrow raised, and huffed a frustrated breath. "You know what Freddie?" he said, striding around to the front of the broomstick shed and opening the door, "I don't think this decision is up to you, actually. Or me for that matter." He extracted his broom from the shed. "I think it's up to Ava. She can decide if she wants to."

"George, are you joking right now—"

"I'm not," said George simply, swinging a leg over his broom. "I'm quite serious. Let's see what the strange bird has to say, shall we?" He flashed a wide grin at Fred before kicking off into the air, whizzing around in a couple of tight circles before zooming into the forest.

"George!"

Fred cursed under his breath and dashed to the entrance of the shed, pulling out the first broom he felt, and kicked off into the air as well.

"George!" he screamed again as he flew into the thick of the trees.

He could hear George's laughter up ahead, and as annoyed at his twin that he wished he could be, he couldn't help but laugh back and lay flat against the broom, urging his speed forward in an attempt to catch up.


	15. Chapter 15--Portkey

**Author's notes: Hey there, everyone!**

**Thank you so, so much for reading so far. We're getting really, REALLY close to *the big reveal*. I'm sure you guys are sooo ready for that.**

**Just because I had a few people messaging me and asking, the photo I edited and used for the cover is a still from a movie called Endless Love. Yep, that's Alex Pettyfer with flaming red hair. Nice touch, eh? In all seriousness though, the female star, Gabriella Wilde, is more or less an exact vision of how I pictured Ava to be. So if you're looking for a good visual to imagine scenes in your mind with, she's your gal!**

**Lastly, and this is random-I'm wondering if any of you lovely readers can recommend a story for me? I'd really like to read one about the Marauders' years at Hogwarts. A really good one, basically like I'm reading a Harry Potter book, but all about Sirius, James, Peter, Remus, Lily, Snape etc. , that doesn't really stray from what happened in canon. A long one I can totally become lost in and read and review the shit out of! Private message me with recommendations, please? Thanks in advance!**

**I present... Chapter 15! Please review!**

**Chapter 15—Portkey**

On her third visit with Ava, Ginny Weasley had, somewhat begrudgingly, started taking a liking to the strange girl.

She'd always thought very highly of her ability to read people. She called it "choosy intuition". Her mother called it "judgmental".

Whatever.

In the beginning, this was her perspective: this girl was a foolish damsel in distress who'd put her brothers lives in danger, proceeded to invade one of their minds, and then sent said chosen brother all out of sorts as though he'd never seen a girl before in his life.

Yep, Ginny had decided immediately, before she even met her, in fact: she didn't like this girl. Nope, not one bit.

On their first meeting this past Tuesday, her mother had asked her to bring Ava dinner after they'd finished their own meal.

She'd raised a perfectly shaped auburn eyebrow. "Doesn't Fred usually do that before he gives her treatment?"

"Fred is at the London Library with George and Harry," her mother had replied rather brusquely, spooning leftover buttered turnips into a bowl and placing the dish on a tray. The tray also held a plate of spare roasted chicken and brussel sprouts sautéed with bacon.

Ginny nearly choked on the sprout she had popped into her mouth. "Fred and George are at _a library_?" she gasped, laughing hysterically. "Mum, mark this on the calendar!"

Her mother hadn't even bothered an attempt at a smile; instead, she had briskly moved on to her next task of scrubbing the stove, which had become caked in grease during her cooking process.

"Mum, erm…do you want some help?"

"Yes, I would Ginny, thank you dear," she replied, and shoved the tray of food into Ginny's arms. "Off you go!"

First nearly getting the twins killed, then making Fred go completely ga-ga, now she needed her dinner delivered. Her resentment for this stranger had grown.

She'd headed up the twisted stairwell of the Treehouse, levitating the food tray before her, reveling in her displeasure the entire time. She couldn't wait to get a look of this girl, she prayed she was fat or ugly or spoke with an embarrassing speech impediment. Ginny just wanted to have another _something_ to finish off the bad picture of her she'd painted in her head.

Well, shit, she was gorgeous. She was tall, with long fingers and a rather long neck, making her appear effortlessly graceful. Her lips were a dark red, as though she had just finished eating too many raspberries, and her nearly platinum blonde hair was long, more than halfway down her back, and incredibly soft looking. Ginny took notice of the thick, ugly scar that ran across the front of her throat, but wasn't cruel enough to mentally poke fun at someone for an injury they'd sustained.

"This is your dinner," she'd said flatly, plopping the tray down on the enormous white bed. "I'm Ginny. And I'm leaving now." She'd turned to leave.

"But it's about to rain, you'll get soaked going back through the woods," came Ava's voice from over her shoulder. Nope, no embarrassing speech impediment to boot.

Taking a quick look through the screen of the porch and noticing the dry conditions, Ginny had sarcastically laughed. "_About_ to rain? What, do you predict the weather too?"

Ava had fidgeted, visibly uncomfortable and shrugging. "Well, no, but it just smells like rain. I can always smell when a storm is coming. Can't you smell it too? Wow, I just said the word 'smell' way too many times, didn't I?"

Ginny was just about to have another go at the girl for talking about sniffing out the bloody weather conditions when the sudden sounds of a torrential downpour began, the leaves around them rustling as raindrops spattered against them. The wind let out a sudden howl and the rain blew sideways, straight through the screen walls.

Ava had let out a small yelp of surprise and dashed to the wall, trying and failing to turn the crank that controlled the wooden shutters.

"It's stuck!" she'd panted, heaving her pathetic body weight against the handle. Ginny found herself rolling her eyes but nonetheless leaping forward to help the girl, and, using their combined efforts, worked together to finally un-stick the crank.

Ava's hair was blown sideways and sticking damp across her face, and she didn't even bother fixing it before she'd burst into laughter.

Ginny couldn't help but smile back, but just a little. And after Ava invited her to share the leftovers and they'd sat together on the bed, simultaneously tearing into chicken legs, she'd headed back to the Burrow and had to remind herself that she wasn't supposed to like this girl.

But then it was the next morning, and she found herself laying a thick pile of clothes down on one of the wooden tables in the first level of the Treehouse.

"Are those for me?" Ava had asked, her eyes wide.

Ginny snorted. "Actually, they're for Fred. Yes, they're for you. You need something to wear other than my Mum's gardening clothes, don't you think? They're all things I hate anyway. You can have them."

Ava had timidly begun pawing through the clothes, stopping to admire each and every piece, her eyes still wide. "But these are all…really, really nice. I mean come on, what about this one?" she asked, holding up a dress that Ginny particularly hated. It was knee-length and the color of fresh sage. The bodice was silk, with a sweetheart neckline, and off-the-shoulder cap sleeves drooped from the edges. The skirt flared out slightly and had a thin layer of cream colored lace over the delicate green.

Ginny sighed. "It's beautiful, but it's not me, you know? These are all things my Mum bought for me, hoping she could make me more girly."

Ava had looked up from her raid and raised a single eyebrow and smirked a little. "Did it work?"

Ginny vaguely gestured to herself. She was wearing a brown t-shirt with a worn looking men's zip-up over it—formerly Charlie's, in fact—faded jeans, and Chuck Taylor sneakers. "Obviously not," she replied, smirking back. "Here," she said, and thrusted a strapless periwinkle sundress into Ava's arms, "try this one on. It'll look better on you than it ever will on me."

"That's not true."

"It is," Ginny had said, snorting again. "See these?" She had pointed to the defined cups of the sundress' bodice. "Those are supposed to hold breasts. And I don't have any. I'm as flat as a board." She knocked on the wooden plank of the table for extra comedic effect and Ava had thrown her head back and erupted with laughter. "You're as thin as a tree twig but you're a little more gifted in the…woman department."

"But, you're like, a really, REALLY pretty board," Ava had replied in a tone of voice that somehow managed to sound sincere and sarcastic at the same time, gesturing towards Ginny. "Basically, if a house were made of boards just like you, it would be the prettiest house _ever_."

Damn it, she kind of liked this girl.

And now, it was Sunday morning. Ginny had finished family breakfast and brought over a plate, and currently stood behind Ava, who was sitting at one of the long wooden tables of the Treehouse. Ginny had Ava's hair weaving through her fingers as she set it into a French braid, and Ava was leaning over the table, looking over all of the research found on her case from the library.

"I really can't believe this," she said, shaking her head in astonishment. "I know I've said it a thousand times already, but I _really_ can't believe this."

Ginny tugged on her blonde hair playfully before resuming her braiding. "Don't move your head. What can't you believe?"

"Just all of…this. Fred told me that there was attention around my disappearance and showed me a few articles he had at his flat, but I didn't think it was this serious, this extensive—"

Ginny paused her work on Ava's hair again. "Wait a second. His flat? When were you at his flat?"

"Thursday night, but only for a minute. And then Friday night, all night, and some of Saturday morning. Why?"

"Oh my god, are you shagging my brother?"

"What?" Ava attempted to whirl around in her seat to face Ginny, who promptly took her by the shoulders and faced her away again.

"I said don't move your head, that includes your body too, you git."

The girls giggled together as Ginny began braiding again.

"No, I am not _shagging_ your brother. It wasn't like that. I made him food and we talked a lot, like we have been every night. We fell asleep talking, actually. He wasn't feeling well and I just kept him company."

"Yeah, and I'm sure he kept you company too, right in between your—"

"_Ginny_!"

"_What?!"_

"I am NOT…_shagging_ him!"

"You are so shagging him!"

"Whose shagging who?" came a voice from behind the girls.

Ginny jumped in surprise and turned to see Fred and George themselves entering the first level of the Treehouse, the door swinging shut behind them.

"Oh bloody hell, it's you Ginny," said Fred, his mouth in an exaggerated frown and his hand clutching his abdomen as though he was about to become ill. "I can't believe we just walked in on a conversation about your _sex life_, hand that over George, I think I'm about to be sick—" He playfully attempted to tug the empty cauldron out of George's hands, who was face deep in it, pretending to vomit.

"Bleeerrrghhhhh!" George heaved theatrically into the mouth of the cauldron.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You two are hilarious, you know that? An absolute riot."

"You know Fred, she's got a point, we are a bit funny. Maybe we should do something productive with that, I dunno, open a joke shop or something—"

"Oh shut up," Ginny snapped, but an undeniable grin was spread across her face.

The twins set the cauldron down and headed over to sit across from Ava, who was doing the best she could to contain her laughter.

"What's this?" Ginny suddenly asked, tugging on a chunk of Ava's hair that refused to stay braided. The rest of her hair was a long, uniform length, but this piece was much shorter than the rest, and kept slipping out of the plait.

"It's hair Ginny, you have some too, but it's red," Ava teased, looking across the table at Fred and George and winking. They grinned back, thoroughly amused.

"What are you three, the sarcastic trio now? I meant why is it shorter than the rest?"

"Ginny, if you're done interrogating her about her hairstyle, we came here for something important we'd like to discuss," said George, his cheek resting on his hand as though he were suddenly extremely bored.

Ginny secured an elastic around the end of Ava's French braid and collapsed on to the bench next to her. "Yeah, I'm done. Stage is yours."

"Fantastic," George replied, and looked over to Ava. "Ava, we have a question for you."

"Oh, no. No, no, no, NO," interjected Fred, waving his hands back and forth as though he were swatting away a swarm of bugs. "'WE' do not have a question for you. I have no part in this. This is all George."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "You guys disagree on something? Well, that's a first."

George ignored both Ginny and his twin and continued on. "We…well, I, was wondering, if you would—"

But he was interrupted again, this time by Ava herself. She'd made quite the odd noise, somewhere between yelping and choking, and slammed both of her palms down on the table, her eyes bulging on the current article she'd been skimming over.

"Ava?" asked Fred. "What is it?"

She continued sputtering for a moment, apparently speechless, her face drained of all color and her fingers fumbling amongst the papers.

"Th-this!" she managed to finally choke out, thrusting a page across the table in the twins faces.

They turned it right side up and leaned in together, the sides of their heads nearly touching as they examined the page. Ginny sprung up from her seat beside Ava and hurried around to the other side of the table, peering over the twins' shoulders.

It was an article titled, 'Parents of Missing American Six Appear on Oprah Winfrey Show', from just this past September.

"Huh," George let out a single chuckle, nodding in admiration with his eyebrows raised. "It says here that your parents went on a television talk show with all the other parents to talk about losing you and their kids. And the host, this Oprah character, blimey she looks a lot like Angelina's mum—"

"Further…down…the article," Ava said with gritted teeth.

George, Fred, and Ginny had to squint and lean closer to the article to read further. It had been one of the last pages they'd printed at the library; the ink had been running sparse so the article was faded and the text was tiny. They'd avoided reading it until now to steer clear of the headache that was currently coming on just from squinting at it.

Ginny identified what Ava must have been so disturbed over first. One of the sub-headlines was titled, 'A Mother's Final Wish'.

"'When Caroline McKinney of Manchester, Vermont, took the stage, tears were sure to flow from viewers around the country'," Ginny read aloud. "'Caroline, who just recently ended treatment attempts for Stage 4 breast cancer, expressed what she called her final wish: to see her daughter again, even just one last time.'"

Ginny stopped reading there, an uneasy feeling in her stomach, and looked up from the paper slowly to look at Ava. Her grey-green eyes were shining with tears and as wide as Galleons, and a hand was clapped over her mouth, as though to stop herself from screaming.

Suddenly, Ava swung her legs around the bench and sprinted across the floor to the edge of the space, where there was a small restroom. Vomiting sounds filled the air again, and this time, they weren't from George, and they weren't faked.

Ginny and her brothers ran after her, Ginny in the lead. She burst into the bathroom to see Ava kneeling before the toilet, grasping its porcelain edges in her hands as though she were hanging on for dear life as she emptied the contents of her stomach.

"Okay, okay, there you go," murmured Ginny gently as she crouched behind her, holding her long braid away from her face.

Fred and George appeared in the doorway, looking down at Ava with expressions of the utmost discomfort and pity. Ginny glanced up at her brothers as she rubbed small circles into Ava's back, her eyes darting back and forth between them. None of them knew what to say.

Ava's vomiting ceased, but she remained hovering over the toilet, panting hard. She raised a shaking hand to her mouth and wiped her chin, her eyes closed, then suddenly sank backwards on to her heels and collapsed to the side, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily.

"I'm going to get her some juice, don't let her pass out," said Fred softly, and darted away to the small kitchen at the other end of the room.

George pulled the towel off the mounted ring on the wall and ran it under cold water. He passed the damp cloth down to Ginny, who was sitting beside Ava against the wall. She thanked him with a nod and pressed the towel against Ava's clammy forehead, just as Fred re-appeared with a glass of pumpkin juice. He exchanged worried looks with his twin but still said nothing.

"I have…to go…to Manchester," Ava panted, her eyes still closed.

Ginny exchanged looks with her brothers again before patting Ava gently on the leg, now exposed as she wore the short and strapless periwinkle sundress .

"Ava, we'll talk about what to do next, okay? We'll hold an emergency Order meeting, we'll figure it out—"

"There's nothing to figure out!" Ava suddenly exclaimed, her eyes snapping open wide. She pushed herself off the floor and stood, wavering a bit. Fred reached out and grasped her bare shoulder firmly to steady her as she blinked hard and waved his offer of juice away.

"There's nothing to figure out," she repeated, licking her lips and shaking her head. "I need to go to Manchester. I need to know if my mom's still alive."

"Ava, we can barely even get you out of this Treehouse safely right now, you're talking about going all the way over to the United States—" George started gently, but stopped talking as Ava turned to him with a look of desperate pleading on her face.

"George, it's my mom! It's my mom, okay? I need to know if she's alright! And my Dad, holy shit, he would never choose to go on without her! I won't say or do anything, I swear, please just Apparate me over there so I can see for myself—"

"We can't Apparate that far of a distance, Ava, no one can," Fred said softly, squeezing her shoulder. "Ginny's right, we need to take a breath and figure out what out next step is instead of doing something rash—"

"Then I'll take a plane," Ava stated simply, and strode out of the bathroom.

Fred, George, and Ginny stared at one another in bewilderment for a moment before scrambling after her.

"Ava…stop…listen to us, you can't just go boarding a plane, think about this for a moment, please!" Fred begged, jogging behind her and catching her hand to hold her in place. "Think about the danger you'd be putting yourself and everyone else in—"

"I don't care," Ava said, her eyes squeezed shut tightly, refusing to look at anyone in the room. But she was completely limp at the end of Fred's arm, she no longer headed towards the door. She just stood there, letting her hand dangle weakly in Fred's and her knees shaking.

"You do care though, you do care," whispered Fred back. "Think about Ryan, okay? Just think about Ryan."

Ava turned and let herself collapse on the edge of one of the table benches, her elbows on her knees and her head bowed and buried in her hands. Ginny could see a few tears leaking out from between her fingers.

"Mom," Ava whispered to herself, rocking back and forth slightly. "Mom, Dad, Mom…"

The thought of what Ava was going through stirred memories for her; she remembered the night her family had learned of her father's attack by Voldemort's snake and had to sit around waiting for news on whether he was alive or not. Ginny raised her fist to her mouth and bit down on her knuckles as oncoming tears stung her own eyes, and looked over to George who, while he didn't look like he was about to cry, looked like he was witnessing some kind of accident or tragedy in the works and couldn't look away.

Fred sat beside her and reached around, and began petting the back of her braided head in an attempt at comfort. He looked up between Ginny and George.

"I suppose we can ask Percy if he can organize a Portkey for us," he said softly. "He does still work at the Department of Magical Transportation, doesn't he? I'm sure he'll be able to get one for us."

"When you brought me to the hospital," started Ava, lifting her head from her hands and her voice strained, "didn't you just…make one? Right then and there?"

"We did, but that's only allowed under emergency circumstances," Fred replied in the same soft voice, his hand still resting on the back of her head. "And I know this for you IS an emergency, but the Ministry won't see it that way."

"The Ministry doesn't even know you exist," George added on testily.

Fred looked up once more but this time, only met eyes with George. They stared at one another for a minute, their famous form of silent communication that Ginny gave up on trying to understand a long time ago passing between them, before Fred spoke again.

"George? You and Ginny go see if Percy is still down at the house from breakfast, yeah? See what strings he can pull to get us a Portkey to Manchester, Vermont, as quickly as possible."

"Okay," responded George both a little too quickly and a little too brightly. He put both hands on either of Ginny's shoulders and forcefully began steering her from the room, towards the doorway leading to the outside platform. Ginny rolled her eyes heavily but let her older brother take her away from the scene. She had no idea what Fred and George were up to, but she knew at this point in her life that resistance from their plans were completely futile.

After Fred was certain George and Ginny had left the Treehouse completely and were back down on the ground, he put both hands at the top of Ava's arms and held her away at arm's length. She was destroyed, utterly defeated, her face soaked in tears and her breath still ragged.

"Ava," he said softly. She didn't look at him.

"Ava, come on. We're going to Manchester."

He rose to his feet and extended his arms, letting his hands hover before her. She looked up at him, her face riddled with confusion, and hesitantly slipped her hands into his. He pulled her to her feet.

"W-what?" she asked him, her voice still slightly shaking.

"We're going to Manchester," he repeated gently. "Now. I'll make the Portkey."

"Fred!" she exclaimed, and threw herself forward, leaping into a tight embrace with Fred and, to his surprise, planting a quick kiss on his cheek, right in front of his ear. "Thank you," she whispered into it before releasing him.

He smirked just slightly. "Yeah, you better have loads more of those—" he jabbed a finger at the spot on his cheek that Ava had just kissed "—at the ready when I get fined and ticketed by the Ministry for doing this."

Her face fell. "You're really going to get in trouble, aren't you?"

He shrugged and smirked even wider. "Nothing I can't handle. Now come on."

Fred took her by the hand again and lead her to the floor space before the mantle. "Now stay here_. Stay here._ I mean it. I need to get something before we go, please_, please_ don't be gone when I come back."

"I'll stay," Ava assured him.

He'd barely nodded back at her before disappearing into the Floo flames to his flat, and when he returned just a minute or so later, she was still frozen in place where she said she'd be.

"Right. So George told me he informed you about something that we were working on to ensure your safety out in the public eye, yeah?"

Ava only nodded, staring curiously at him.

He dug his hand in his pocket and extracted it: the necklace that he and George had made in hopes of letting Ava conceal her identity outside the Treehouse. It was a crystal amulet, light and powdery pink in color, dangling from a thin silver chain. He held it out to her at arms length.

"Go on and take it. It's yours, fresh from the minds of Fred and George Weasley."

She held out her hand and he dropped the necklace into her palm. She brought it close to her face and studied it briefly, as though staring at the stone would reveal its' secrets.

"This will really make me appear as a different person to everyone besides the Order?" she asked, holding it up to her eyes.

"Yep. Tested it out ourselves."

Ava raised her gaze from the necklace to finally meet Fred's eyes. "Yeah? What does it make the wearer look like?"

"A woman about ten years older and a few inches taller than you with a black pixie cut for hair."

The smallest of smiles tugged at Ava's lips. "You walked around looking like a woman for a while to test this thing? Seriously?"

"Seriously," Fred repeated back to her, deeply nodding as she looped the necklace over her head. "Just for you. I think by the end of today with all the favors I'm doing for you, you're going to owe me more than a kiss." He spoke solemnly, trying to stay as serious as possible, but watched in delight as the remnants of sadness left Ava's face. Her jaw dropped in outrage but her eyes were alight with oncoming laughter.

"Hey," she said, reaching forward and punching Fred surprisingly hard in the arm. "Watch yourself."

"I always do," he said with a wink, and reached behind him to pull whatever object he felt first off the mantle place—which turned out to be a used teacup, slightly dusty and stained with tea on the bottom. He placed it at the edge of the table closest to him and Ava, and pulled out his wand.

"_Portus_," he muttered, tapping the edge. The cup quivered and glowed for just a few seconds as Fred pocketed his wand again and sighed.

"Are you ready?" he asked Ava, his eyebrows raised and his hand out.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded, slipping her hand into his outstretched one.

"Now remember, no matter what happens—no matter what—you can't do anything. I don't care if your parents start doing a bloody tapdance in front of you, you remain a secret. Understood?"

"I understand, Fred. You're bossy today."

"Just trying to get the job done," he said squeezing her hand and winking again. "By the way—you look lovely in that dress."

"Thanks. I'll let you borrow it sometime."

"Fantastic. Are you ready?" he asked again.

Ava took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

"Okay. Back home you go. We touch the Portkey on three, okay? One, two, three—"

Their fingertips met the lip of the teacup at the same time, and the world gave an almighty lurch from beneath their feet. In the few seconds that it took to travel to Manchester, Vermont, Fred had already managed to obtain a pit of guilt in his stomach as he realized something.

It was just about the end of April. This past September—seven months ago—Ava's mother Caroline had appeared on television, in the midst of dying from cancer. And Ava had cried out in a panic that her father would have never gone on without her mother.

Fred realized—

If her parents were gone, Ava was free.

If her parents were gone, Ava could talk. And they could finally help her, and any of the others that might still be alive.

_You're a bloody asshole_, he thought to himself as he felt his feet slamming to the ground.


	16. Chapter 16--Floodgates

**Author's Notes: I want to say an enormous thank you to all of my readers, but especially to my last few reviewers! All of the reviews have been absolutely glowing and thoughtful, and I truly do appreciate it.**

**Now, here's something really cool for you guys: who wants to see where Fred and Ava just landed?**

**Go to Google Maps, and type in: 439 Muddy Ln VT. Click on Street View.**

**Bam. You are now standing in perspective of exactly where the Portkey has taken Fred and Ava.**

**And just for fun (and a gorgeous view to boot), head up the road to 213 Muddy Ln. You see the dip in the mountain there? That's what the locals call, 'God's Armchair'. Breathtaking, isn't it? Let's just say I'm familiar with the area. If you guys want me to show you more amazing Google street views of gorgeous places around where Ava grew up and lived, let me know, and I'll be sure to share more.**

**Here's Chapter 16…enjoy!**

**Chapter 16—Floodgates **

Before Fred could recover from the pull-in/push-out sensation of the Portkey journey, before his feet could find a solid stance, hell, before he even opened his eyes—he took notice of the air.

It filled his nostrils, throat, and chest like a thirsty man gulping cold water; it was crisp and clean and had all the familiar smells of nature—mud, grass, and wood, mingling together amongst the un-nameable scent of the sunshine in the breeze. He opened his eyes, guilt and shame still plaguing his gut, to reveal he was at a fork of sorts. To the left was a wide gravel road, going slightly downhill and lined by forest. And to the right was another road, thinner and rougher than the first, that climbed up a small hill. At the base of the hill was a small street sign, slightly crooked and flaky with rust. The name _Hard Farm Road_ stuck out in white lettering against the green background.

Ava.

Her hand still grasped his. It was clammy; slick with moisture, cool to the touch and slightly shaking. He turned to face her and saw she was staring in the direction of the small hill to their right, her mouth open and eyes appearing slightly glazed and out of focus.

Fred gave her hand a squeeze. "You okay?"

For a moment it seemed as though she hadn't heard him. She continued staring up the hill until she suddenly blinked and shook her head slowly.

"I just…I guess I'm just trying to figure out if this is _real_, you know?"

"Come again?"

Ava finally tore her gaze from the base of Hard Farm Road and looked up at Fred, her face riddled with doubt and fear and covered in the same thin veil of nervous sweat that was present on her hand. Her entire neck, shoulders, and top of her chest was dewy as well, extra exposed from the combination of the strapless sundress and French braid she sported. The sun was bright and the moisture along the thick pink scar across her throat gleamed as she visibly gulped.

"Fred…you don't know how long I spent imagining this moment. The moment where I got to stand here again and…" she trailed off, shaking her head once more.

"And what?"

She shrugged a little. "Go home. The moment I got to go home."

They stood in silence for a few moments that seemed to last an eternity, before Ava suddenly let go of Fred's hand. As soon as she released it an odd feeling came over him, as though his hand was suddenly naked, missing something. It was the same uneasiness that plagued you when you leave the house feeling convinced you were forgetting something, but had no idea what that something was.

His now empty hand twitched. "Let's just take a minute to collect ourselves properly. We have to have some sort of game plan, if your parents…aren't there, well, we can't just go barging up to the house owners asking them what happened to the previous ones."

To Fred's surprise, Ava grinned a little. But it was a private, dreamy smile, the kind that came over someone's face when they were remembering something pleasant, or thought about an inside joke.

"Yeah, we can," she said softly, nodding and staring in direction of the hill again. "It's different here."

"Different?"

"Yeah. Different from everywhere else. Manchester's always been like a little bubble, a sub-universe hidden away from the rest of the world. People here…there's no judgments, no suspicions. We leave our keys in the ignition of our cars and leave our front doors unlocked while we're away on vacation. It's not considered odd to strike up conversations with strangers."

Silence floated between them once more and Fred found himself doing all he could to contain signs of the raging war that was going on inside of him: desperately hoping for the best, wanting nothing more than for Ava to see her parents happy, healthy, and alive, while simultaneously desperately hoping for the worst, knowing that the key to Ava's freedom lay in the fate of her family's well-being…or lack thereof.

_Asshole, asshole, asshole_.

Fred held out his hand for hers again. "Well come on, let's go."

She looked down at his hand and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Fred rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and stomped his foot slightly like a petulant child.

"Look, I know you're frightened. I don't need to be some kind of mind reader like you to peek inside your skull and know you're scared to death. I can't imagine what you're going through right now but don't. Don't do what you're about to do."

She raised a single eyebrow. "What?"

He stared straight into her eyes, his voice cocky in the confidence of knowing he was right. "Deflect with some kind of sarcastic humor, pretend like you're not about to soil yourself by tossing around a couple jokes. Feel what you need to feel. Be scared, or cry a little if you must. Just take my damn hand."

As Ava stared at him for a moment in shock, Fred himself felt jolted at the words that had come tumbling out of his mouth all on their own. He had urged Ava to tear down any walls she had built up right now and feel what she wanted to feel. He had said to her what George had said to him.

But, wordlessly, she slipped her hand into his once more, and the feeling that Fred had lost something melted away.

"Yeah," she whispered.

She turned away to look up at Hard Farm Road, and the two of them finally uprooted from their frozen stances to begin striding up the incline. It was a short trek, and the top of the hill evened out and then deepened into an enormous valley, surrounded by thick forest and hugged by the base of a towering mountain range. Only a few houses occupied the valley; Fred could see three in the distance to his right, and one straight ahead of them. By the way Ava was staring at it, he assumed it had to be hers. It was a huge country-style home, all white with navy blue shutters, with a wrap-around porch and an attached garage that looked like it was once a barn. A wide, powdery dirt road lead from the garage where a dark green mid-size vehicle was parked, thin clouds of dust drifting around it as though it had just pulled up.

Ava froze in her steps. "That's not my parents' car."

Fred's stomach performed a nervous somersault. "Maybe they have visitors?" Her hand started quivering in his again, and he gave it another squeeze. "No turning back now."

She continued staring at the green car before nodding and allowing them to resume their steps. As they neared closer to the home, the clouds of dust floating around the drive dissipated and the sound of the car's low engine humming suddenly ceased. This time it was Fred who froze in his tracks, holding Ava firmly in place beside him. They watched the car together with bated breath, waiting for its occupants to emerge.

The driver's side door swung open, and there was a leg, then two legs, then an entire body climbing out of the vehicle. It was a woman who appeared to be hovering around the same age as Molly, wearing a white linen shirt with a jean jacket, and green cargo pants. Her hair was a dark, reddish brown that was streaked with grey, pulled away from her face and piled atop her head in a messy knot. She smiled widely and brought her hand to her forehead, shielding the glare of the sun away from her face as she stared at Fred and the crystal's illusion of a different Ava.

"Hi there," she said, smiling even wider and nodding once, her other hand resting on her hip. "Sorry about the dust. You two okay? You look a little lost."

The car clicked again as the other side's door swung open and a man climbed out. He was bald, with a friendly face crinkled with smile lines, sporting glasses and a red flannel shirt. He smiled as wide as his female counterpart at the sight of these two strangers standing before his home.

Fred glanced quickly over to Ava, looking for some sign of recognition, but her face was strangely neutral, completely unreadable. She stared blankly ahead at the couple as they walked around to the back of the car and converged to stand together near the trunk, facing Fred and Ava.

"We just got back from the farmer's market. Beautiful selection they've got there today. Spring has sprung, finally!" The man's eyes crinkled into tiny slits as he spoke and a natural smile overtook his face.

Fred continued staring stupidly at the strangers, gaping at them as they made friendly conversation as though they were neighbors, not bothering to ask why he and Ava were standing on his property. Fred gave Ava's hand a subtle squeeze, silently begging her to say or do something to give him a hint of direction.

She suddenly jumped in place slightly as though she has been awoken from sleep and smiled weakly back at the couple.

"Hi," she said, her voice sounding rather breathless. "Yeah, hi. The market is so beautiful this time of year. The Danby cheese from Consider Bardwell Farm is amazing, right?"

Although Fred hadn't thought it possible, the man and woman before them smiled even wider.

"It's the best," the woman agreed. "So you're from the area then? I don't recognize you two."

"Oh, no, we're from Burlington," Ava lied. "I just have some family here."

"Oh we love Burlington," the man replied, nodding heartily. "We've only lived here a few months ourselves. Moved here from Woodstock."

_We've only lived here a few months._

Fred felt as though he had swallowed ice, the man's simple statement sinking in the realization that the couple before them wasn't Ava's parents. He felt Ava's hand shaking even harder in his now, and he noticed an oddly grey pallor to the skin on her face, her fake smile still plastered wide.

"Yes, we adore it there," he finally spoke up, holding on to Ava's hand tightly. "Although I do miss good old London sometimes, must admit."

"Ah, a Brit transfer!" the man exclaimed. "We don't see that too often around here! Did you hear that Barbara? He's from London!"

Barbara nodded enthusiastically and outstretched her hand to Fred. "I don't think we've introduced ourselves, I'm Barbara, and this is my husband Mike."

"Arthur," Fred offered his father's name in a moment of desperation, and shook both Barbara and Mike's hands.

"Lily," Ava said, meeting their hands as well. Her and Mike's hands barely parted before she spoke again. "So, what happened to the previous owners of this house? We were just taking a walk and I remembered my aunt and uncle had some friends in this valley, didn't another family used to live in this house?"

"Yes, the McKinney family," Barbara replied, her smile fading as she nodded thoughtfully. "Goodness, it seems like every person we run into in this town is chomping at the bit to let us know we're living in their old house. Tragedy what happened to them."

"Tragedy?" Ava asked delicately. "What tragedy?"

Mike raised his eyebrows but laughed heartily. "Oh, come on now, you're from the state! What, have you missed the news for the past three and a half years? You know, the girl that disappeared with the rest of those American college students studying abroad? She lived in this house!"

"W-wow, you don't say," Ava murmured. Fred was finding it increasingly difficult to hold on to her hand; it was now soaked in sweat and her grasp was limp.

"And then her poor mother and father," continued Barbara, shaking her head. "Mother died of cancer this past January, and her father, well…" she trailed off for a moment to pause and smile sadly. "Died in this very house. Sleeping pills, apparently. I guess he just couldn't go on after everything that had happened, you know? His daughter, his wife…"

"Can't even imagine," Mike said somberly, wrapping an arm around Barbara's shoulders. "Really makes you think about the importance of family, yeah?"

Ava suddenly stumbled in place beside Fred as though her legs were threatening to give out. He squeezed her hand tighter and grabbed on to her forearm with his other hand to steady her. She was blinking rapidly, her eyelids fluttering, and her lips were purple.

"Woah there," said Barbara, jumping forward and catching Ava's other shoulder. "You don't look so good. C'mere, sit down for a minute. Mike, grab her a soda, will you?"

Barbara guided Ava and Fred to the porch extending from the front of the home as Mike dashed inside. Ava collapsed on to a wicker couch, making a loud creaking noise, and Fred settled down beside her.

"I'll be right back. Mike, where's that soda?" Barbara called into the house as she disappeared inside.

The moment felt strangely surreal as Fred and Ava were left alone sitting on the porch. Wind chimes dangling from above them clanged together cheerfully as a breeze blew. A low, vibrating sound followed as a Hummingbird darted to the feeder poised among the flower bushes surrounding the lip of the porch.

Everything around them said it should be a perfect day.

But the girl beside Fred was crumpling, her abdomen not doing its job correctly of holding her upright. She was oddly tilted to the side, threatening to tumble off the wicker couch any second. Fred felt as though there was a dagger rooted in his own stomach; all pathetic longing of wanting to know Ava's secrets drifting away with the breeze, his desire for her to reveal her story the last thing on his mind. He mentally cursed himself over and over for ever hoping for such a thing; Fred had thought Ava appeared weak and destroyed when he'd first seen her at the hospital, and again after learning of the death of Ryan. But now, as she sat beside him, collapsing in on herself, he realized he hadn't seen such a thing in his entire life—a person who, while very much alive, appeared as a ghost, an empty shell buried among the sand by the sea.

"Ava," he whispered to her. What else was there to say in this moment, other than her name? _'I'm sorry I basically wished your parents dead'? 'I'm sorry I ever let the thought even cross my fucking mind'?_

She had no reaction; her mouth continued hanging slightly open and her eyes remained empty and staring into nothing. She suddenly pitched forward further, about to fall off the furniture, and Fred grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back. He let his right arm stay draped across her shoulders and noticed the goosebumps that were now covering her entire body. Her teeth began chattering.

"Here you go sweetie, drink this," exclaimed Barbara suddenly as she came striding out of the front door and towards them on the couch. She passed a can of soda into Fred's hand, and he removed his other from her shoulders to pull back the tab until it popped. Ava held out her hand limply and he shoved the can firmly into her grasp.

"Is she alright?" Mike asked, jogging towards them and standing beside his wife.

Ava shakily lifted the can to her lips and closed her eyes as she drank deeply, gulping down the contents of the can again and again until she set it down slowly on the wood under their feet. It made a dull clanking sound, signaling it's' emptiness. Fred then noticed the dryness inside his own mouth; he felt as though his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"I have a…blood sugar thing…" Ava whispered, staring past the worried faces of Barbara and Mike. The Hummingbird returned again, flitting about and dipping its beak into the red sugar-water.

"Ah," said Mike as he and Barbara settled into matching wicker chairs across from Fred and Ava. "Yeah, tell me about it. Type One diabetes right here." Thankfully, he had brought out an additional soda for Fred, which he reached across and offered to him. Like Ava, Fred drained his quickly and set the can on the porch floor.

"You know, speaking of the McKinneys, it's so funny that you're from London, Arthur" Barbara said to Fred, sitting back in her chair and crossing one leg over the other. "That's where the girl went to go study abroad."

"Oh yeah, that's right," Fred replied, nodding thoughtfully in his best impression of feigned interest. He glanced at Ava out of the corner of his eye to see her unchanged; still slightly slumped in her seat and her eyes out of focus. "That case is still unsolved, yeah?"

"Very," Mike said dryly, and threw his hands in the air. "I just don't understand how a girl can disappear without a trace."

"Well, these kinds of things happen every day, Mike," Barbara said in a know-it-all tone of voice.

Mike raised his eyebrows at his wife and tilted his head to look at her, his glasses sliding slightly down his nose. "No, they don't, Barb. People go missing but not the way _she_ did."

Barbara shrugged. "It was at a nightclub on the other side of the world and she was drunk out of her mind, what do you expect?"

Ava made a small choking noise next to Fred, but Mike and Barbara hadn't noticed, now lost in their intense conversation regarding Ava's disappearance.

"She might've been snatched up by one of those foreign sex-trafficking rings you hear about sometimes," said Mike, shrugging back at his wife. "I always thought that was an obvious possibility."

His wife rolled her eyes. "You watch too many movies, Mike. Let's cut the action-thriller crap and think about this logically; girl grew up in small town Vermont. Girl gets a taste of big-city life on the other side of the pond and maybe gets caught up with the wrong people. We can never really know what she got involved in."

"Drugs, probably."

"Absolutely."

The wicker couch suddenly rocked forward as Ava sprang to her feet. She wordlessly stared back and forth between Mike and Barbara for a moment before taking off, leaping off the porch and running with astonishing speed towards the forest on the other side of the house. Fred and the others stared after her in shock for a couple seconds before Fred jumped to his feet as well, clumsily kicking over both empty soda cans in the process.

"I'm so sorry, she…she's ill…it was really nice to meet you." Fred stared back at the couple for a second before taking off after Ava.

Just as he jumped off the porch and began running across the grass, she reached the treeline and disappeared into the woods. He saw her light blonde braid bouncing across her back, the blue sundress flowing out behind her, and then, in the thick of the trees, she was gone.

"Shit," he hissed to himself, powering himself forward and crashing into the forest after her. "Ava!" he called out.

He caught a glimpse of her not too far ahead. She had slowed down from her run and now appeared to be stumbling forward at a rapid walking pace, reminding him of the way a person uncontrollably strides down a steep hill once gravity takes over. He continued running towards her, but even with his wide stride and her slowed pace, he was finding it difficult to catch up with her as he navigated through the thick forest. It was much denser than the one in the back of the Burrow leading towards the Treehouse, where the tree trunks were thick and spaced widely apart and the ground covered in a smooth moss. This patch of woods was scattered with all sorts of random vegetation and brush; thorny bushes and fallen branches and clusters of thin-trunked trees made his every move difficult.

"Please…stop," he panted, kicking a pile of dead leaves aside and stumbling over a small boulder sticking out of the ground.

"I knew he was going to do it," he heard Ava's voice echoing from up ahead. "Just as soon as I read that Mom was sick, I just had this feeling, you know? And Dad always suffered from melancholy, he was on medication for it for as long as I can remember, but that's normal, a lot of people get depressed right?" She was prattling on incessantly as she stumbled forward, speaking to the air before her instead of turning her head over her shoulder to address Fred. "And he always said he didn't know what he'd do without Mom, I remember her asking him what he'd do without her and he would say, 'Oh, crash and burn!' But it was a joke, we all thought it was always a joke, you know?" Her babbling reeked with hysteria, her tone uneven and every other word breaking as though she were a pubescent boy with a developing voice.

Fred ducked under a sharp, dead-looking branch and bounded ahead, about to close the distance between them as she continued on stumbling and talking to no one in particular.

"But I don't know, yeah, as soon as I saw Mom wasn't well I just knew. I just knew, you know? You know what I mean? I just knew he did it."

Ava seemingly slammed straight into the thin trunk of a young Birch tree just as Fred reached her. She curled her body forward, clinging desperately to the tree, her back hunched and head hanging.

"Oh my god, I'm gonna be sick," she gasped, her hands sliding down the trunk, weak in their grasp.

Fred darted forward and grabbed handfuls of her golden hair that had started to unravel from the plait, holding them behind her face as she vomited back the soda that she had just downed.

"It's okay, it's okay," he kept murmuring as he stood behind her, her hair soft in his hands.

He didn't know what else to say to her.

What could you say into an empty shell? Would you actually expect an answer?

What could you say to a ghost?

She sounded as though she was turning inside out as she gasped for breath, coughing back the bile that dripped out of her mouth and on to the dead leaves beneath their feet. A bird sung its call from above them, and the sound of wind chimes echoed from across the valley.

"It's okay. It's okay."

* * *

Ava looked up at the spiral staircase twisting above her as though she was being asked to climb a mountain.

Fred, quickly taking notice of Ava's state of shock in the woods as she continued being violently ill, had made another Portkey and transported them back to the edge of the forest behind the Burrow. He held on to her limp hand as he lead the way back to the Treehouse, feeling as though he was guiding a sleepwalking person to safety. Her eyes were wide and her feet dragged along the forest floor.

And now, they stood side by side on the first level of the Treehouse. Ava gaped at the task of climbing the stairs as though she couldn't possibly imagine conjuring the energy to do such a thing. The invisible knife in Fred's belly ached.

"Do you want to go lay down?" he asked her quietly.

She didn't answer him.

So Fred then did for Ava what George had done for him so many times in the hospital while he learned to walk again and had fallen. He crouched down, sliding an arm under her knees and his other under her shoulders, curled around her back, and stood, holding her lounging in his arms. And he climbed the stairs for her.

They reached the third level enclosed porch and he set her down gently on the edge of the enormous white bed. He stood before her, looking down on her face, waiting for her to say something. Do something. Anything.

She just sat there, her eyes transfixed into the distance, blinking slowly. He waited a few more minutes, still standing there, still waiting for something.

And nothing.

With a sigh, Fred slid down to the ground, his bottom on the wooden planks of the floor and his back resting against the side of Ava's elevated mattress. Her legs dangled off the bed beside him, brushing the corner of his shoulder.

They stayed like that for awhile. Fred wasn't measuring the time, but enough of it had passed to notice the shadows stretching across the floor longer and darker than before. And then, with no warning or spoken words, Ava pulled her legs up on to the mattress. Fred felt it depressing slightly behind him, and he sighed again, this time in relief of knowing she had finally laid down.

The sobs began. They were quiet and soft at first, the delicate whimpering of a girl's last-ditch effort to hold back tears.

And then, as the sun began to set, the light around the highest level of the Treehouse changing to a deep violet, the floodgates opened.

The quiet and stillness of the air around them was disrupted as Ava finally released her wails of despair. She nearly screamed as she cried; her wails barely muffled by the pillows that surrounded her face. Fred's head felt heavy as it leaned against the side of the mattress where she laid. Along with feeling utterly useless, his stomach twisted with hunger and he yearned for a bathroom break. But every time he contemplated standing, every time he considered taking a break from his watch, the bed against his back shook as Ava cried. As the floodgates crumbled. As the levee broke.

With his right arm, he reached up behind him, snaking his hand up along the mattress in search of finding a part of her to hold on to. Her hand found his first, and she pulled it tightly against her chest, holding it against her heart desperately the way a frightened child clings to a teddy bear. He let her keep it as the violet darkened to black and her sobs faded to the heavy, even breathing of slumber.

Fred woke up the next morning, Monday, his lower back aching and his shoulder stiff from falling asleep while sitting on the floor against her bed with his arm extended behind him. He gently untangled his hand from hers as he crept down to the first floor to visit the bathroom, eat some food, and send an owl to George letting his twin know where he was.

He climbed the staircase to arrive at the third level again and stood at the foot of the bed for a few minutes, his arms folded across his chest, looking down at Ava's sleeping figure tucked into a tight fetal position on top of the duvet.

He wondered what she was. A fugitive of some sort. A victim. A mind reader. A healer. A secret keeper. An orphan. His charge? No, she was more than that. She was a girl with an invisible sledgehammer, breaking down the wall in his chest piece by piece.

Hoping not to wake her in the process, Fred delicately crawled on to the bed behind her, turning on to his side, and inched forward until his chest pressed against her back and his legs tucked neatly behind hers. His arm reached around and held her tightly against him, offering his hand into her own up to her sternum again. In her sleep, she hummed in comfort as she accepted it and nuzzled her face against the pillow.

Their routine continued for a couple days—one of them waking and quietly making their way down to the first level to visit the toilet or wolf down a stray bit of food while the other slept, then crawling back into bed, laying even closer against the other than before. Sometimes they talked—well, mostly Fred talked—telling stories about Hogwarts and the war and Quidditch and the shop, but mostly they just slept. Ava slept to ride out her despair; Fred slept to catch up on all of the nights he had spent over the past few years pacing around his flat unable to relax. He had written to George telling him to come and fetch him if he needed him for the shop, but they'd remained undisturbed.

And then, on Wednesday evening, right after Fred had finished telling Ava the story about how he and George first came into the possession of the Marauder's Map, she had sat straight up before getting to her feet and stretching. Her hair was mussed and her sundress was deeply wrinkled from their nearly three day long stint unmoving from bed. Fred was vaguely aware that he was beginning to smell himself.

"What're you doing?" he asked her in a mid-yawn she twisted back and forth, her back popping.

"I think it's time for me to bathe," she said as she headed down the stairs without pause. Fred stared after her for a moment before scrambling out of bed after her and following her down.

Fred remained hesitantly standing on the fourth step up from the first level as she entered the bathroom and shut the door behind her. He realized she needed her privacy to bathe properly and her space to process everything that had happened, but he felt extraordinarily attached to her now, like a guard dog permanently on watch. He knew that even with their past few days of relaxation and decompression, she still wasn't in a right state of mind and he feared her darting from the Treehouse any second now and taking off again into the woods.

He found himself finishing the descent down the last few steps of the staircase and leaning his back against the bathroom door, sliding down to sit on the floor again as he listened to the steady sounds of the shower running behind him. After what felt like forever, the water turned off and everything once again was silent. Fred kept his head against the door, listening hard, not quite sure what he was listening for but feeling responsible for Ava's safety in a ridiculous setting such as the bathroom nonetheless.

A couple minutes passed. Fred had just started feeling worried about the silence on the other side of the door when it suddenly clicked and swung open towards the inside. With a yelp, he comically lost his balance and lurched backwards, laying sprawled out on the tile floor of the bathroom to look up and see Ava standing behind him, one hand on the doorknob, the other on her heart in surprise. They stared at one another upside down for a moment before he sat upright and scrambled to his feet.

She was standing in front of the claw foot tub, a brown towel wrapped tightly around her torso. Her blonde hair was slicked back and dripping with water and her body was covered in droplets of shiny moisture that had not yet dried from her shower. The crest of her breasts strained against the top of the towel and the bottom of it flirted around her upper thighs, much shorter than even the sundress she'd been sporting. Against his will, Fred felt his face warming with blossoming redness.

"Um…what are you doing?" she deadpanned, the smallest of smiles twitching around her face.

Fred's face grew even hotter. "I was…making sure you were okay."

"In the shower?"

"Yeah."

"What could have possibly happened to me in the shower?"

Fred shrugged and threw his hands in the air. "Dunno. You could've drowned, I suppose."

"In the shower?" she repeated. The smile began to form and a droplet of water fell from her hair on to her chest.

They stared at one another in silence before simultaneously bursting out into laughter, both of them doubling over as they gasped for breath amid their guffaws. It was a secondary floodgate bursting open, the tension and uncertainty that had filled the last few days breaking and erupting into their fit of ridiculous laughter.

Fred rested his hand atop the sink to support himself as he cracked up, and Ava continued laughing hard along with him, so hard she stumbled forward a bit, her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her one hand still holding fast to her towel while the other came forward to rest on Fred's chest. His head bowed as he laughed, his nose and chin pressing against the top of her soaking wet head. Their peals of laughter eventually slowed and came to a stop, both of them catching their breath while remaining in their close position.

The air around them practically crackled with the anticipation of something about to happen.

Fred, still resting his jaw atop Ava's drenched hair, found himself tilting his head down to a further angle as his lips extended and planted a soft kiss at the crown of her head. A second passed with Ava remaining frozen, and Fred was just about to begin regretting what he'd done when she pulled her head back, and tilted her face up towards his.

Then his lips found her mouth.

It was soft and dewy, verging on wet, still warm and moist from her shower. He let their kiss linger gently for a moment before he crushed his mouth against hers harder, his hand leaving the sink and floating to rest on her back, the exposed part above the towel. She shuddered slightly under his touch, and Fred inhaled through his nose deeply as their lips parted and moved together in unison, a perfect symphony. Her face smelled like the bar of oatmeal lavender soap that sat in the tub, and he tasted the scent in the back of his throat.

On her tip toes to reach her and Fred's kiss, Ava stepped forward even closer, as close as she could get to him. Beneath the towel, her breasts pushed up against his chest, and she reached her free hand up to comb through and grab on to a handful of his red hair. She made a fist with it, tugging on it slightly, and felt her knees buckle as Fred hummed the smallest of moans against her lips.

Fred tilted his head to the opposite side, and as her face tilted along with him, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She whimpered back against him and held on to his hair tighter, feeling a couple strands popping out from his scalp as she offered her own tongue back to him.

Her eyes wide, screaming at Fred to run in the alleyway. A single teardrop running down her nose. Her palms flat against the desk in St. Mungo's as she lurched forward threateningly towards Healer Lily and the desk manager. Those same hands, scabs ripped away and wrapped in bandage. Her head thrown back in laughter. Her terrified whisper. Her sickness in the woods. Her mouth and tongue, writhing against Fred's, the smell of oatmeal and lavender clouding his senses.

This girl.

The wall.

His heart.

Ava broke the kiss, panting slightly, her forehead remaining up against Fred's and her eyes closed.

"Fred."

"Yeah?"

"I feel you."

"Mm?"

"There's no static."

He opened his eyes slightly to see hers, open now as well and just an inch away as their faces remained touching. Her hand released his hair and shifted to cup the side of his face, her thumb running over his cheekbone.

Her other hand quivered at her chest, limply holding the brown towel in place. Fred's front was soaked from crushing up against the freshly showered girl. He could still taste her on his lips.

"Fred."

"Yeah?"

"Get everyone together. Get the Order."

His brows knit together at her oddly timed request, and he finally pulled back, unsticking their foreheads and staring at her in confusion.

"Get the Order together," she repeated solemnly, looking up at him and licking her lips.

He wanted to kiss her again, and begrudgingly ignored a twitching sensation near the top of his thigh.

Ava rose forward gracefully on her toes again and met Fred's lips with hers, but just for a moment. The kiss was soft and delicate, and bristled with an oncoming secret.

"I'm going to tell you," she whispered.

He felt his eyes narrow in curiosity, and for just a second, he forgot about his need to kiss her more. "Tell me what?"

Ava sighed deeply, nodding to herself, and squeezed the side of his face gently with her hand.

"Everything. I'm going to tell you everything."


	17. Chapter 17--Prisoners

**Chapter 17—Prisoners**

On Friday evening, George looked around the first level of the Treehouse and realized they were missing something: the reason why they were there.

"Where's Ava?" he hissed to a rather irritated looking Fred, who was standing nearly nose-to-nose with Percy.

Fred jumped a little and quickly scanned the room. The entire Order had arrived and everyone was happily serving themselves platefuls of Molly's famous bangers and mash, but George was right: Ava was nowhere to be seen.

"She has to still be up in her room," said Fred with a shrug. "I told her it was time to head down to greet everyone but she said she needed a moment. Though that was nearly fifteen minutes ago."

Percy suddenly cleared his throat loudly and looked at Fred with raised eyebrows, imploring his brother to return his attention back to him. Fred groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Calm your tits, Perce, I'll be with you in a second" Fred snapped. He leaned in close to George. "Go up there and check on her, will you?"

"Want me to give her a kiss for you while I'm up there?" George whispered back, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I dare you to try it," Fred replied in a low voice, but the twins were grinning at one another, real hostility nowhere to be found. In fact, George had been downright ecstatic the day before when Fred had finally returned to work and informed him about his and Ava's kiss.

"Not that I don't appreciate the support brother, but what exactly are you so thrilled about?" Fred had asked while George did a dance of sorts, skipping around the cash register.

"I'm thrilled that you've made intimate contact with a woman you'll be forced to see on a regular basis and won't be kicking out of our flat at three in the morning," George had replied quickly as he bounced by.

Now, George clapped his hand on Fred's back for a moment before walking away, however, he stopped when he was halfway to the spiral staircase. He stood behind Percy's back, catching Fred's eye over his shoulder.

_Want me to hex him?_ he mouthed to his twin.

A smile twitched around Fred's mouth as he fought the urge to laugh, and he shook his head slightly before returning his attention to Percy. George shrugged and made his way up the stairs.

"_Ca-CAW_!" George yelped in a mock hawk's shriek as he stepped up to the third level.

Ava was standing with her back to him while looking out the screen wall into the forest branches somewhat dazedly, her arms wrapped around her front and clutching her opposite shoulders, hugging herself. She jumped at George's call and turned around with a relieved looking smile spreading across her face when she realized it was him.

"Hi there strange bird," he greeted her, grinning and bowing his head.

"Hi there badass," she replied, clutching her front and hugging herself again.

George sat on the edge of the white bed, looking up at Ava. "Hey, I'm…really sorry about your parents. Really, I am."

"Thanks George," she said, smiling weakly.

"What's going on up there?"

"Hm?"

"In that head of yours."

"Oh," she said, finally releasing herself from her twisted self embrace . She stepped forward and sat next to George on the edge of the bed. "I'm just nervous to talk to everyone, I guess."

"Why's that?"

Ava chewed on her bottom lip before responding, her eyes staring blankly and out of focus in front of her.

"Ava?"

She turned to George slowly, her eyes still as wide as saucers.

"I'm afraid I'm about to start a war," she whispered.

George took a minute before responding, his head cocked to one side thoughtfully.

"Yeah? And so what if you do?" he finally answered back.

Ava wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "What?"

"I mean…if a war breaks out then so be it." George shrugged. "If it doesn't, we're lucky. If it does, we fight. Doesn't change the fact that something's happened to you, enough to turn you up in this condition," he gestured to her body sitting beside him. She wore one of Ginny's coral colored sundresses tonight, all of her most obvious injuries in full display: the thick pink scar around her neck, and, most recently noticed by Fred and George since she started wearing the sundresses, a deep, uneven crater-like gash marring her outer thigh. "And it doesn't change the fact that there are others that need help too. War or no war."

He and Ava stared at one another for a moment while she digested his surprisingly wise words, and before she had a chance to respond, he rose to his feet and held his hands out before him.

"Come on, birdie. Everyone's waiting. You're the girl of the hour."

She rolled her eyes before taking his hands and standing before him. "Great," she said sarcastically.

George let go of her hands and lead the way, beginning their short journey down the stairs. "Besides," he said over his shoulder as they descended, "I hear there's a frog down there that needs some kissing to help turn back into a human again."

"You know George, some would say it's unwise to provoke someone standing behind you while walking down a flight of stairs."

"You've got a point there."

The two of them had barely set foot off the last step and on to the first level when the sound of Fred's agitated voice met their ears.

"You've got to be joking. _You've got to be joking_."

"I'm not. One hundred and fifty Galleons, and here's the official ticket to prove it."

George and Ava came upon Fred and Percy standing under the stairs, halfway bathed in shadow. Even in the dim light, it was becoming increasingly noticeable that Fred's face was beginning to turn an impressive shade of burgundy as he glared at Percy's smug expression. Percy held out a roll of parchment that was sealed with a circular stamp of purple wax, waiting for Fred to take it.

"What's going on?" George asked, standing beside his twin as Ava hovered awkwardly behind them.

"What's going on is that Fred made and used an illegal Portkey and doesn't want to face the consequences of his actions," said Percy in an official tone of voice. More blood rushed to Fred's cheeks.

"Perce, not for nothing but aren't you somewhat of a high wanker—sorry, I mean ranker—in the Department of Transportation? Can't you just make this…go away?" asked George with a shrug.

"That's…what…I…said," muttered Fred through gritted teeth.

"I already have," Percy announced, puffing his chest. "By fifty Galleons. Original ticket was for _two-hundred_. This was the best I could do."

"_Wow Percy, golly gee, you are so fucking generous,"_ Fred hissed.

George reached out and placed a hand on Fred's shoulder to steady him, stuck his other in his pockets and pulled out a single Knut, thrusting it against Percy's chest and forcing him to take it.

"Well then, here ya go Perce, consider it a down payment," George said cheerfully, wrapping his arm around Fred's shoulder and steering him away.

_We'll pay the money_, he mouthed to Percy over his shoulder, who responded with a tight nod before going to sit with his wife.

"I knew you were going to get in trouble for that," said Ava when the twins turned to face her, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry."

Fred waved his hand dismissively, his face finally returning to a normal color. "Don't apologize for anything. It was our idea. I knew when I did it I'd have to just eat the bill."

"Speaking of eating," said George, glancing over to the trays of food on the tables, "I'm going to go have a sit and drown my money woes in buttered potatoes. Fred?"

"I'll be there in a minute," Fred replied, and George left him and Ava alone.

Fred reached forward and tugged gently on the ends of Ava's hair and brushed her bare shoulder with the backs of his fingers. He didn't quite know what he was doing but he had an overwhelming urge to touch her. She smiled weakly in return but didn't meet his eyes.

"You're nervous," he said to her. It was more of a statement, an observation, rather than a question.

She nodded once. "I told George upstairs I feel as though I'm about to start a war. Like my hand is clutching a detonator that I'm about to activate any second."

He started twirling her hair in between his fingers. "And what did George say?"

"He said whether or not I started a war was beside the point."

"George is right. It's kind of like our little teacup Portkey," he said, grinning down at her. "I knew what I was about to do was going to cause some trouble but I did it anyway, because it was just what had to be done. And when it comes to doing the right thing, to hell with the repercussions."

Ava finally managed a real smile and narrowed her eyes a bit at his face. "You two are quite wise when you want to be, you know that?"

Fred briefly looked around him to make sure no one was looking directly at them before leaning down and giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head. "It'll be fine," he whispered into her hair. "If you're that nervous just do what I do when faced with a large crowd."

"What's that?" she whispered back.

"Picture everyone buck naked."

After a moment of hushed laughter, they straightened up and Fred led the way to the front of the room, at the end of each of the rectangular tables. In preparation for the meeting, he'd conjured up a chalkboard on wheels, which he'd adorned with the sorted upside-down pyramid of the American Six. Ava froze when she laid her eyes on it; all of their faces still marred with the matte red Xs and question marks, her own at the bottom and unmarked.

"Fred," she breathed.

He stared back expectantly at her, his brows furrowed together. She gulped back at the uncomfortable lump that had started forming in her throat, where she swore she could feel her own pulse reverberating. Suddenly she realized the whole room was quiet and staring at her—a scattered sea of Weasley red hair, some faces familiar, others not, peppered with other stranger's faces that all belonged to the Order. Their eating had ceased and they were all staring at her, waiting for her to do or say something.

"Can I—can I just sit down to talk? I'm sorry, I don't want to stand up here like I'm giving a presentation or something," she stammered.

Nods and murmurs of approval swept across the room, and in relief, Ava stepped on to the seat of the last table and climbed up to sit on the table surface, her feet resting on the bench. She sighed and let her hands rise and fall in a hopeless fashion.

"Hi everyone," she started pathetically. A few seconds of silence passed; someone in the group coughed a little and the fire crackled. One table over, Ginny caught her eye and smiled at her encouragingly as Fred and George settled down on either side of her.

"Truth be told I don't know what to say right now. For years, I imagined myself being free and exclaiming a certain phrase to anyone that would listen," Ava began, her voice shaking at first but getting stronger by the second. "The plan was to burst out and announce: 'My name is Ava McKinney, and I've been a prisoner for three years.' I just wanted to scream it to the world, you know? Well…now that I've gone and said it…" she trailed off and shrugged. "Now I don't even know where to go from here. I don't know where to start."

Another moment of silence went by. "Start from the beginning," Fred called out.

The beginning. What was the beginning, really? When she was eight years old and complaining to her parents that Manchester was boring, and she couldn't wait to go somewhere else when she grew up? When she was sixteen, and in the midst of an argument with her family, she screamed out that she couldn't wait to move far, far away? When she was eighteen, packing up all of her belongings the week after her high school graduation, preparing to move to the U.K. for university?

No, those moments weren't her beginning. That was the prologue.

"The London nightclub," she said finally. "It was the beginning of November, a little over two months since I began school. I'd already made a crowd of friends. We were stupid and went out too much and didn't study enough." Her stomach clenched as her mind briefly flashed to images of her old friend's faces. She wondered where life had taken them.

The room was completely silent as everyone hung on to her every word.

"We went to the club and we'd been there for only about an hour before he approached me."

"He?" Arthur asked.

Ava smiled grimly. "You all call him Rat-Man. His actual name is Gridgeon."

"Gridgeon?" Ron asked loudly. "Like, rhymes with 'pidgeon'?"

"Be silent and let the girl speak her truth," said Vladimir sternly. Ron quieted, but before Ava continued, she took notice of Fred and George exchanging glances, their faces screwed up tightly in what looked like a mixture of shock and confusion.

"What is it?" she asked them.

They continued staring at one another for a moment before turning to her. "That name," said Fred slowly. "We've heard that name before."

"It's been nagging and driving us mad, you see," interjected George. "This whole time, I've sworn that I'd seen him before. But I couldn't place where, no matter how much we thought about it."

"And now the name," continued Fred. "We've heard his name and we've seen his face. I just…couldn't even begin to tell you where. I don't know. We'll work on it." He raised his wand and pointed it to the chalkboard, the word: _Gridgeon?_ appearing on it as a first bullet point.

"He came up to me in the nightclub, ugly as ever but well dressed. I was the worst kind of attention whore; I reveled in the spotlight of being the new and exciting girl from across the pond and I accepted free drinks and attention from anyone who'd give it to me." Ava sighed to herself and shook her head in embarrassment. "He offered to buy me a drink and of course, I accepted. And to further prove my stupidity, I let him bring it to me from across the bar. He gave it to me but then just kind of disappeared with the crowd. It wasn't long, maybe a few good sips before I started feeling its' effects."

"He drugged you," said Hermione, frowning.

Ava nodded. "It didn't occur to me at first. I don't know, I just considered maybe the drinks were stronger than I thought. I told my friends I was going to the bathroom but I didn't even make it halfway there without falling for the first time."

"That was all caught on tape, you know," George said, his eyes meeting hers. "Everyone said it appeared like you were blasted but your friends insisted you'd barely been drinking."

"Yeah. It just felt like the world was spinning and everything sounded muffled and my stomach was churning. It wasn't much different than being drunk, to be honest." She laughed bitterly. "I got to the restroom and it was…quiet. Too quiet. I'll never forget it, just walking in there I knew something was wrong. It was completely empty. The rest gets blurry, but I remember opening one of the stall doors and he was just standing there. Staring at me, and I knew something bad was about to happen. I opened my mouth to scream, and he…" she stopped talking, her eyes shifting to the side and staring into space for a moment as she recalled the memory. "He beat me. He beat the shit out of me until I blacked out. That was the night this happened." She hooked a finger inside the corner of her mouth and pulled her lip back to expose the empty spot in her gums, the missing tooth from the back of her mouth evident.

"That bastard," Charlie said quietly.

Ava had been doing her best to avoid Fred's eyes up until this point, but she felt her gaze being tugged in his direction, like a magnet. His nose was scrunched slightly and his mouth was hitched as though he smelled something putrid.

"Why though? I dunno, maybe that's a stupid question, but why bother beating you when he could have just Stunned you?" asked Harry, frowning as well.

"Two reasons," Ava replied. "One, Gridgeon is a sadistic son of a bitch. I found that out soon enough. We all did." Her gaze floated over to the pictures of the five others stuck to the chalkboard, staring at them for only a second before tearing her eyes away. "Two…he couldn't have used spells requiring a wand. At least not at that time. He didn't have a wand." She sighed heavily, butterflies assaulting her gut as she prepared to drop a bombshell that she knew would change everyone's lives in the magical community. "He only ever used stolen ones because he had to. You see, he never had a wand of his own. He never had…magic, of his own."

A murmur spread through the room, and McGonagall perked up in her seat, looking across the room to Ava. "Clarify, Miss McKinney?"

She bit her lip and paused, looking around the room. "So. Gridgeon was what you would all call…I think the word was, 'Squib'? He was teased for it constantly, which never ended pretty. Am I saying it right?"

George laughed lightly. "Sorry strange bird, I think you're a little confused on this one. A Squib is a person born to magical parents, with no traces of magic themselves."

"That's right."

"No," said Fred, shaking his head. "No, no, that's not right. Gridgeon used magic. With a wand. I saw him, Ava. In the alley. We both saw him."

"I know, Fred," she said, her voice almost a whisper and starting to shake again. Tears pricked her eyes and blurred her vision; everyone's confused faces swam before her.

Fred was staring at her with uncertainty; his fist was clenching and releasing on the tabletop and his left foot was incessantly jiggling under the table. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to rise from the table and make his way over to her—sit with her, hold her hand, encourage her—but he forced himself to stay put. He knew that if she stopped, it would be harder than ever to get started again.

"Ava," he said softly, "what are you saying?"

She tilted her head back, her golden hair tickling her spine, willing the tears in her eyes to absorb back. When she brought her head forward again, she forced herself to look Fred in the eyes.

_I'm sorry._

_Please forgive me for not telling you sooner._

_I'm sorry._

_Can they still be saved?_

"Gridgeon discovered something…I don't know how, or when, but he knew something that no one else knew. He found out how to perform magic…a-as a Squib." She fought the sudden urge to vomit as she spoke, the sour taste of bile rising in her throat. She choked it back, making a mental note to herself that she needed to kick this habit of nervous vomiting. "He was drinking blood. Witch and wizard blood. He always k-kept a few around to drain from, have a steady supply—"

"WHAT?"

The eruption of the word had come simultaneously from Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. Everyone else in the room had identical expressions: eyes wide, head tilted back in horror, mouths gaping.

"That's not right, it can't be right," gasped Hermione. "Someone would have known by now, someone would have studied it, it would be discovered—"

"Gridgeon didn't exactly have witches and wizards lining up to volunteer their blood, Hermione," Ava replied rather quietly. "He had prisoners. They were kept separate from us, but we knew they were there. We saw them sometimes drifting past our cell, all grey and pale and ghost-like, dragging IV stands behind them—"

"Wait. Stop, let's just rewind for a second," said Fred in a strained voice, rubbing the back of his head and ruffling his hair vigorously. He directed his wand at the board again with the appearance of: _blood prisoners. _"Gridgeon beat you in the nightclub. You blacked out. Then what?"

"Then," Ava continued, "I woke up somewhere else, on a cold, hard ground. He was leaning over me and that's when I saw the empty vial swinging from around his neck, a couple red droplets still inside…and the smell coming from his mouth…" she shuddered. "He must have swigged it back in the restroom, just enough to Apparate us out and to wherever we were then. I felt something—I didn't know it at the time, but looking back on it now I know it was the tip of a wand—on the back of my neck. And then he whispered something to me." She rubbed her face with her hands for a second before letting them drop. "'Welcome, soldier.' I'll never forget, even in my state, how sarcastic he sounded. How cruel. He said it to me and then there was this pain, this horrible burning sensation right under my hairline…" she trailed off, her right hand fluttering up and to the back of her neck, resting there.

"Your tattoo," said Fred in realization.

Ava nodded, and pulled her long curtain of hair on to her left shoulder, letting it spill across her chest. She twisted around in her sitting position to display the back of her neck to the Order; the black **M** and **W** mirroring one another as bold and blaring as ever.

Fred remembered when he'd first seen her tattoo, that night two weeks ago. How when he'd laid eyes on it, the first thing that came to mind was that it reminded him, although it was ink, of a livestock brand. That there was something ominous and proprietary about it that unsettled him, although at the time he didn't know why.

"And this mark he branded upon you," said Kingsley, "what does it mean?"

Ava turned around to face everyone again and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. "It's Merryweather. Project Merryweather, to be exact." She shivered then, the very mention of the phrase sending a ghastly chill up her neck.

"Project Merryweather? That's the name of Gridgeon's operation?" George asked, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

Ava shook her head. "It's more than him, George. It's always been about more than him. Gridgeon doesn't own or control shit and he knows it." She spat out the curse word like it was poison in her mouth. "He's nothing more than a henchman. In a twisted way he's the best henchman an operation could ask for, seeing as how he's absolutely sadistic and has no ability for empathy. He works for them. That's where we were kept…the headquarters of Project Merryweather. Home sweet home, for three very, _very_ long years."

"When you say 'we', you're referring to the rest of them?" said Arthur, tilting his head towards the pictures on the chalkboard.

Jason. Steven. Annie. Callaghan. Sarah. For the love of God, Sarah.

"Yeah," Ava choked out. She slid off the table and slowly walked over to the chalkboard, raising her hand and letting her fingers drift across a couple of the pictures. "We were kept in two separate cells, made of this super thick, strong glass, right up against one another. Boys in one, girls in our own. They were in this corridor…the walls and floor were this bright, sterile white, and the lights were always nearly blinding. Doorway on each end of the corridor. People would come through, walk by us, walk out." She spoke softly, almost respectfully.

The way you'd talk at a funeral.

"I was the last to arrive. And Steven died first," she said, her back still to the Order members as they listened. "He was only in there for about four months. He had an asthma attack. Gasping, flailing, us all screaming for help and pounding on the glass…and then he was gone. He just…he was gone." Her eyes lingered on his picture; all ashy blonde hair and beard framing a wide, laughing smile. "They kept his body in there with us for nearly a week."

"Bloody hell, what'd they do that for?" Ron exclaimed, his tone made of pure revulsion.

"Not sure," said Ava as she turned to face front with a lame shrug, her eyes off to the side and staring into space again. "But if I had to guess, I'd say it was to scare us. To remind us. That we were lucky to still be alive. If you could even call it that…they did enough to keep us going. Fed us once a day. Had a sort of toilet contraption in the corner of each cell. You know it's funny," she said in a bitter tone that conveyed what she was about to say actually contained no real humor at all, "the thought of sitting on the toilet in the middle of a big glass box, with an audience of both genders, that seems kind of embarrassing, right? You'd be surprised how comfortable you get with one another after sharing a space with a corpse for a week."

The room was silent for a minute, until Fred suddenly stood, holding his wine glass in the air. "Steven," he called out solemnly.

"_Steven_," the room chorused back to him. Everyone drank, and Fred resumed his sitting position.

_Thank you_, Ava's eyes said to Fred.

_You're welcome_, his gaze responded.

"Sarah," said Ava softly, her fingers tracing over the girl's picture. "And Jason. They died on the same night, a little more than a year and a half in. It was an unusual circumstance, to say the least."

"Unusual?" asked Bill. Ava took notice of his knuckles, nearly white with tension, tightly clutching his silvery-blonde haired wife's shoulder.

"Sarah died giving birth to her son," Ava said gravely. "Something went wrong. She bled to death." Her legs were starting to feel weak so she collapsed down on the end of a table's bench, hunched over with her forearms resting upon her knees. God, why did she suddenly feel so exhausted?

"I'm sorry dear…you did say, 'giving birth', didn't you?" asked Molly delicately, her hands twisting in her apron.

Ava nodded, her head feeling heavy. "It was Gridgeon's. He always had this sick fascination with Sarah. She would come back all withdrawn and glazed over but never talked about it. None of us knew what was going on until she started vomiting in the mornings. And then her stomach…She told us that he told her he loved her. That he was _in love_ with her. Which is ridiculous, of course, the man's a psycho. And then there she was, giving birth on the floor of the cube one night." Ava bowed her head and let it hang for a minute, rubbing the back of her head like Fred did his own and squeezing her neck before looking up again. "We didn't know what we were doing. Held her hand, told her to push and be brave and all of that. And then there was blood…there was a lot of blood. Fox…Annie, but her nickname was always Fox…she was cleaning up and warming the baby. I was trying to stop the blood flow from Sarah." Ava shook her head, staring into that imaginary faraway place again. "It just wouldn't stop. She said she was cold, and I gave her my shirt. Then she was gone."

The room was quiet until the smallest of sobs broke through the silence. Everyone turned to see Hermione, her hand clapped over her mouth, her eyes crinkled and shining with tears. Ron pulled her close to him and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, whispering something in her ear.

"Want me to stop?" Ava asked flatly.

"No," Fred immediately responded. His voice was muffled and nasally as he held his face in his hands, not bothering to move or look up. "Just keep going. Get it all out tonight. Please."

"Right. Fox didn't know what to do, she was just standing there holding the baby. I was kneeling in front of Sarah with my shirt off and still covered in her blood. And the boys on the other side of the cube were going wild. Screaming and pounding their fists, cursing. Like animals trying to escape a cage. Guards came and took away the baby, but it was too late for Sarah. Jason provoked one until he opened the cell door, and he charged him. The other guard shot him dead."

Fred suddenly looked up, letting his hands plop down to the table loudly. "Shot? You mean, with Muggle guns?"

"Ava," Kingsley interjected, "there's something important missing here that you have not revealed to us. What was it that you all were doing there, for Merryweather? Why were you taken, what purpose did you serve?"

"Right," said Arthur, nodding. "Good question."

"We were…I don't know, lab rats of sorts, I guess. We'd barely wrapped our heads around the concept that magic was real when all of a sudden, it became a lot more real…it started a couple days after we were initially brought in," Ava replied. "Before anything happened, we were just sitting around, wondering what the hell they were going to do with us. And then, one by one, we were pulled out. Brought into a separate room, walking by other corridors, other cubes with other prisoners. They looked a lot more worn than us, we reasoned we were probably the newest batch. Anyway, when we were in that room, we were restrained, and then…men came in. One would sit across from us and the others would stand behind him with wands out. Coaching him."

"Coaching him in what?" Harry asked, his tone half curiosity, half self-questioning if he really wanted to know the answer to his own inquiry.

"I'm sure you all have a magical term for it. We would always converge in the cube and talk, calling it Mind Ripping. Just seemed appropriate. We'd sit there, tied up, dehydrated, beaten if we resisted, while they tore into our minds. I don't even know what their end goal was, to be honest, they did all sorts of things. Tried to feel our emotions, see our thoughts, look into our memories. Some were better at it than others. The newest seeming guys would accomplish absolutely nothing other than giving us splitting headaches, the better ones could look inside our memories. Even appear in them. Alter them. Pretty impressive, if it wasn't so twisted, right? I mean, my memory of riding my bike for the first time now includes riding by the man from the room that day. He's just standing there on the dirt path in Manchester. He doesn't belong there, I know that, but my brain tells me he was there that day."

The words from Dumbledore's portrait suddenly began echoing in Fred's head, and, as though right on cue, George, Ron, Neville, and Harry—the others who had been present when he spoke—looked at each other gravely.

'_Alterations of the brain, Mr. Weasley. Specifically, invasions of one's thoughts. And mind control. They were looking to create super-spies, if you will.'_

Ava continued, unaware of the boys' sudden perspective on the subject. "Going in there and having them do their Mind Ripping really fucked us up. I mean REALLY fucked us up. Whoever's turn it was would leave for a few hours, and then come back…wrong. Completely wrong, unable to move or talk, they'd just lay there for days. But I was different. We didn't know why, but I wasn't affected like the others."

"It was because of your powers, wasn't it?" George asked.

Ava looked around the room, seeing the invisible heaviness that already plagued everyone. Could they really handle the weight of another bombshell?

"I never had powers before the Ripping, George," raising her hands in the air and letting them fall hopelessly. "I've been mortal—Muggle—my whole life. After Sarah and Jason's death I just suddenly discovered I could do things. Things that scared us, because I was basically mirroring the Ripping abilities."

"But…why?" asked Charlie. "I don't get it, why were you the only one who didn't get wiped out from the sessions, why were you the only one who seemed to get powers of your own from it?"

Ava raised and lowered her right shoulder, shaking her head. "I couldn't tell you. I wish I could. It just happened, I just started…feeling a lot. Everyone's thoughts and emotions hitting me like waves, suddenly appearing in their dreams as they slept and not knowing how I got there. And as time went by, my power of suggestion got strong, really strong. Once I realized what I was doing I would test it all out—whisper to a guard that he was ravenously hungry and watch him suddenly scarf down his buddy's snack, plucked right from his hand…convince him to bring us more blankets, stupid things like that. I was scared but Callaghan and Fox were ecstatic. It dawned on us…that was our ticket out. We talked about it every day, and they pushed me, let me into their minds, gave me permission to do whatever I liked in order to get control of these new abilities I had. We all knew…if I could get good enough, I could get us all out of there. As easy as asking the guard to give us the keys and letting us stroll out the front door. We planned for Christmas, we knew it was coming because we would hear guards talking about the upcoming holiday, and we figured they'd be distracted and off their game that night."

"But that's not what happened, was it?" Fred asked quietly as he watched Ava glance to Callaghan and Fox's pictures, covered in question marks.

"No, that's not what happened. That was more or less the plan, and…it just went wrong. It went really, really wrong. I got out and realized they weren't with me, and by then it was too late," Ava replied, still gazing at the faces. Fred had been watching her face so intently that he noticed something; a flash in her eyes as she spoke, a wince, but before he could really take notice of it, it was gone.

"I don't know what they did with them back there," she whispered, still staring at the board, her back to everyone.

"And now you've been running from them while they've hunt you…since Christmas," Ginny stated. Ava replied only with a tight nod before collapsing on the bench again.

George broke the silence that followed by standing and raising his glass the way Fred previously had. He cleared his throat. "Sarah. And Jason."

"_Sarah and Jason_." Clinks of glasses.

George sat, his eyes trained on Ava across the room, slumped in her seat and rubbing her face again, and leaned into Fred. "End it for tonight, mate. She's had enough. She's done."

Fred nodded to his twin and stood, walking over to stand beside the chalkboard. "We have objectives, just as we do every other mission," he announced, taking out his wand again. "Find out who Gridgeon is, and blimey, it would be amazing if George and I could figure out where we know him from. And catch the son of a bitch. Secondly: find and free the witches and wizards being held captive and used for blood by said son of a bitch. Third," he paused to tap on the board, fresh letters flowering against the black slate: _Merryweather_. "We find out where Project Merryweather actually is. We find out whose in charge. Punish all responsible. We find out whose brilliant fucking idea all of this was."

"Fred," Molly warned. "Language."

"Sorry Mum. Fourth," another tap, to the word _Prisoners_ appeared. "Find and recover all prisoners. Rehabilitate them. Heal them, return them to their families. Fifth," and the next bulletpoint: _Ava. _"We find out how Ava got her powers. Not that we mind, they're amazing—"

"Bloody beautiful," George interjected, nodding vigorously.

"But we should find out how all of this managed to happen, eh? For sanity's sake, if nothing else. I'm not going to bother asking you lot if you have any questions because we'll be here all night. We'll reconvene soon and figure out what our next step is. Goodnight!"

The scraping of benches filled the room, and suddenly, Ava snapped her head up. "Wait," she called out.

Everyone paused in their tracks to stare at her. Everyone's expressions as they looked over were different; some looked concerned, others looked confused, a couple looked downright scared.

Ava sat up straight, and then decided to stand. "One more mission objective," she said, looking at Fred, who nodded, encouraging her to go on. "Recover Sarah's baby. Find out where Gridgeon's hiding him. He claimed to love her so her son is still alive. We find him, and get him away from that piece of shit. For Sarah."

Fred's wand met the slate for the last time that night, the words: _Baby S_ fitting in quite nicely at the bottom of the board.

Everyone bade one another goodnight and filed out of the Treehouse, leaving just Fred, George, and Ava. For some strange reason, the three of them were almost panting, looking at one another in bewilderment as their chests rose and fell rapidly, the weight of the night's information and secrets heavy upon all of them.

George moved first; wordlessly stepping forward and pulling Ava into an embrace against him. He held her for a minute before stepping back, leaning down, and planting a kiss over her eyebrow.

"Be strong, strange bird," he whispered, nodding down at her. "Badass, remember?"

Ava choked out a single half laugh, half sob, biting down on her bottom lip as she nodded back at him. "Badass," she agreed.

George lightly elbowed Fred in the arm. "See you at the shop tomorrow?" Fred responded with a nod, and then, Fred and Ava were alone. It was an odd sensation to be standing there with just one another after the meeting; it felt like it was a long time coming yet completely sudden, somehow at the same time.

After a beat of them just standing there, not knowing quite what to do with one another, Fred slowly stepped forward and closed the space between them. He grasped her hips, pulling her body against his, and she wound her arms around his neck. She let out a sigh of relief and he leaned his head down as far as it would go, pressing the edge of his forehead against hers.

That night, they would lay close together and fall asleep like they had just a couple of nights ago when they'd returned from Vermont and shut themselves in. They would kiss, deeply, passing invigoration back and forth between their mouths as the night time sounds of the forest surrounded them on the third level of the Treehouse.

But now.

Now they closed their eyes and stayed like that for a minute, frozen against each other's forehead, breathing in unison, breathing in each other's scent, breathing in the air around them and reminding themselves that they were alive, alive, alive, pushing thoughts of dead bodies and gunshots and addled minds far, far away.


	18. Chapter 18--Steps

**Chapter 18—Steps**

Although the lake was as still as a panel of glass, it was loud, teeming with life, and reminded Ava of only one thing: home.

Everything was reminding her of home now. A smell she would catch in the air, the way something tasted, a sound carried through the breeze. Her heart ached for home, no, not just the converted farm house in the valley; it ached to return to the life back in Vermont she once loathed, a lifestyle with "nothing to do". Quiet nights sitting on the porch. Summer afternoons spent wandering through the woods. Lazy Saturdays with childhood friends, their feet dangling over the edge of the jagged rock wall and their toes tickling the ice cold water of the swimming hole inside the abandoned Marble quarry.

The ghost of a past life. Haunting her. Taunting her now, as she sat on the tiny makeshift dock with Fred on Sunday afternoon. The dock was an old and uneven rickety thing; half of it perched precariously on a cluster of small boulders and the other half lopsidedly sinking into the mud. Fred had explained he and his siblings had built it years ago during a particularly hot summer between school years, a springboard of sorts, their perfectly imperfect little platform used to launch their bodies into the lake before them.

Crater Lake, Fred had called it. It was barely five minutes into the woods deeper behind the Treehouse, a sudden break in the trees, a nearly perfect circle cleared right in the middle of the forest where the trees had stopped growing. It was a ring of soft grass surrounding an impossibly deep-looking lake, a hole created by a meteorite's crash landing to Earth a long, long time ago, now filled to the brim with thousands of years worth of cool rain water.

To some, Crater Lake would appear as terrifying. A black void, a smudge of ink in the middle of the peaceful, green woods. But the gentle plopping noises as fish broke the surface of the water, the singing of insects chorusing in the air around them, the smell of mud and pond weed, the deep croaking of frogs floating along on lily pads—all of it—reminded Ava of her long lost home.

She smiled as Fred unpacked a picnic lunch from a bag, sitting across from him but still quite close, the edge of their toes touching in an attempt to both fit on the small dock. He grinned back at her as he handed her a sandwich wrapped in brown paper.

"You know, I don't blame you for that," he said, gesturing to the smile on her face. "Liverwurst sandwiches fill me with unbridled joy as well." He grinned even wider as she laughed. "You're really happy?" he asked her, serious this time, arranging his long legs crossed Indian-style and ripping into a bite of his own sandwich. Crumbs rained down on his feet.

Ava nodded while chewing, her cheeks still full with a smile. She swallowed. "I love it here. I'm really glad you took me."

Fred continued smiling back. "It's good to see you smiling again. Since Friday you've looked kind of…spent."

"Yeah. Friday was hard."

"I know."

A dragonfly flitted past them, a streak of metallic blues and silvers radiating even in the misty, cloudy afternoon. It landed on a lily pad and seemed to wait patiently for something.

"My parents would have loved it here."

At the sudden mention of her parents, Fred found himself sitting stiller and chewing more quietly than before. It was the first time she'd really mentioned them since coming back from Vermont. He found himself putting down his sandwich.

"What were they like?" he asked her.

She smiled again through her food. "My mom was…amazing. She loved to garden. All of those flowers and plants you saw back at the house were planted by her. Her favorite thing to grow was tomatoes…I don't know what she did to them, but they would be _huge _by the time they were picked. Like, these grapefruit sized scarlet monsters." Ava spoke animatedly, her hands assisting in telling the story, her fingers curled and palms facing upward as though she were holding some of the tomatoes she spoke of. "I would help her with steam-peeling them and then we'd chop fresh basil and garlic and onions, all picked right from the garden, and let it all stew together for hours. She jarred her own sauce and sold it at the farmer's market." She was grinning widely now, speaking proudly about her mother. "She was perfect for the market. _So_ friendly, _so_ outgoing. She could start a conversation with any stranger. And she was _funny_. She could get anyone to laugh." She finally took another bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully as she stared across the lake. "God, I miss her," she whispered, shaking her head.

The words seemed to hang in the air before them, begging for someone to say something to follow up and catch them before they fell.

"And your dad?"

She continued to stare across the lake as she answered, her smile just slightly faltering. "I loved him. I loved him a lot, but he was…different, from my mom. Apparently it wasn't always like that, I've heard about a thousand times that they used to be one in the same. But he struggled with depression, I always knew that. The melancholy turned him into the more 'strong and silent' type, you know? Sometimes when my mom cracked a joke his face would still seem serious, but there would be a hint of a smile tugging around his mouth, making his beard twitch. I never knew if he was resisting the urge to laugh and trying to stay serious, or if it was the other way around and he was sad and forcing himself to smile." She spoke softly, almost dreamily now, her gaze absentminded and directed towards the trees across the water, but not really seeing them at all. Fred could see in her eyes that instead, she was fixated on a memory. "Then, he would have _really_ good days. And he'd mirror my mom, and I'd see what everyone was talking about. It was like the shadow of who he used to be coming back for a bit, you know? They'd go back and forth all day with this sassy, sarcastic banter, constantly in competition for who'd have the wittier response and who could make the other laugh harder. I'd just stare at my dad's face all day, trying to memorize the way he smiled and the sound of his laugh, so I'd have it etched in my mind for the bad days. Sometimes he'd come home from work and stride by me and mom like we were strangers, and spend all night in his office. We knew it wasn't from a lack of love, it was the opposite, actually. He'd shut himself away when he was feeling shitty so he didn't take it out on us. Just trying to ride out the wave."

Fred's heart suddenly felt like it was sinking, unpleasantly tugging all the way down through his chest and into his belly until it felt like a brick was sitting in his gut. He couldn't help but think about how Ava had seen him at his worst, locked away in his room high and writhing in pain, spitting poison at her and throwing the pieces of paper. Shit, he felt so ashamed.

"So that's how you got so good at handling men and their shitty mood swings, huh?" he asked, sheepishly looking up at her with his head bowed, an embarrassed smile on his face.

Ava smiled back and looked at him out of the corner of her eye as she crumpled up the paper that had held her sandwich and stuffed it back inside the bag. "I think we all have things we're not proud of," she said rather gently.

She rested her hands on her thighs and Fred reach forward slowly with both of his own, threading his fingers through hers and pulling them forward a bit to rest together on top of her knees. They didn't speak for a few minutes, but it felt good to be sitting there, just touching one another like this. Fred had come to the realization that being in some kind of physical contact with her had this steadying effect on him, grounding him, anchoring him down in a stormy sea.

"Ava," he suddenly started, his voice sounding almost stranger-like to his own ears, deeper and more serious than usual. "I have to be somewhere on Wednesday. My entire family does. I want you to come."

She hesitated for a moment. "Would I have to wear the necklace? I mean…is it safe?"

He squeezed her fingers between his and laughed lightly. "Most magic folk call it the safest place to ever be, actually." He paused, watching her interest pique as she cocked her head to one side and stared at him inquisitively. It was cute. "Did Ginny happen to give you anything dark colored to wear?"

"Um…yeah, I think so. What's this about, are you taking me to a funeral?"

Fred laughed and he shook his head. "Close enough. It's not a funeral, per se. It's a memorial service. At Hogwarts, for the battle. They do it every year, this'll be the fourth, but…" he pulled his hands out of hers and traced circles on the dock with his right index finger. "It'll be my first year actually attending."

"Oh," she said, blinking slowly. She stared down at his finger moving on the wood. "Why haven't you gone before?"

His finger stopped, and he pulled his gaze up to look at her face. She had stopped watching his hand as well, and was already looking at him. Their eyes met.

"Why haven't I gone before?" he repeated, shrugging a little and laughing bitterly. "Panic attacks when someone drops something, or slams a door too loudly. Panic attacks when someone accidentally treads on my foot. The episodes of pain…it's the root of it all. I dunno, I guess I wasn't ready. I've felt like if I went back to the place on the day where it all started, I'd fly off the handle."

Ava nodded and sat in silence for a few moments before responding. "What makes you feel different now, like you _won't_ fly off the handle?"

"I don't know that I won't," he answered honestly. "But I guess now I feel like in case I do…I have something to hold on to." Fred smiled pointedly at her and reached forward to take her hand again, but it was somewhat limp in his.

"You don't have to go, of course," he said quickly, but she began shaking her head.

"Of course I'll go," she said softly. Her head was hanging and she was staring down at the dock. "I just…Fred, I'm afraid of you relying on me…like that. It's…I don't know if I'm exactly the right person for the job."

He was expecting her to continue, but she continued sitting there in silence, avoiding his gaze. He fidgeted a little. "What do you mean?"

Ava sighed heavily before reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ears. "Can I be honest with you here?"

"Of course."

"I'm really afraid of disappointing you." Her voice suddenly sounded strained, as though she were doing her best to hold back tears, her throat tightening as a result. "What's happening between us…I like it. At the risk of sounding completely silly, something about being with you makes me feel alive after feeling dead inside for what felt like an eternity. You make me feel really, really good."

He raised a single eyebrow. "There's a 'but' coming, isn't there?"

She raised and lowered one shoulder, her face uncomfortable. "But don't rely on me. Not too much, at least. That's it."

Fred's eyebrow fell back down to its natural position as he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Come on Ava, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Is this the part where you tell me you're too fucked up to function, you've been through too much, you can't unsee the things you've seen, you're no good for me…etcetera, etcetera?" he laughed and shook his head. "I've contemplated giving you that speech about a thousand times, you know."

Ava opened her mouth to respond before seemingly changing her mind and closing it, only to open it again seconds later. Fred was starting to take notice of how stubborn she was, how unafraid she was to speak her mind. Much like himself, actually.

"Okay, well, if that's the case, why haven't you?" she asked.

He stared at her until she finally looked up and met his gaze again. Not breaking their eye contact, he leaned across the small space between them, one of his hands floating up to cup under her jaw and around her ear. Their eyes closed as he took her bottom lip in a kiss, barely, softly and for just a couple of seconds, before pulling back only a hair's width. They were close enough so that their noses were nearly touching, close enough that he could feel her warm breath on his face, close enough to see her grey-green eyes moving rapidly on his brown ones, studying his expression, waiting for him to say something.

"Maybe," he murmured, "I just like the way you make me feel too much. Maybe I'm selfish."

"You're not selfish," she breathed back to him almost instantly.

He hitched up one side of his mouth just slightly in a cocky, lopsided smirk. "And you're not unreliable."

"I am, Fred."

Her voice was so damn serious, the smirk melted right from Fred's mouth and he had to sit back, pull away from her to really study her face. Something was flashing behind her eyes. Fred recognized it as the same flicker that had darted across her face on Friday night while talking about her escape from Merryweather, staring up at the pictures on the chalk board. The look that he wasn't quite sure that he saw. But now, there it was, clear as day, no longer passing through. It was heavy on her face and seemed to weigh her entire body down, her lips frowning and her shoulders slumped: the look of guilt.

Fred's eyebrows stitched together, his forehead wrinkling as realization came over him. "This…" he said slowly. "This is about Fox and Callaghan, isn't it?"

A second after he said their names, Ava tore her eyes from his and once again stared out at the water. Her face was hard, her expression appearing as though it were carved in stone. Fred waited nearly a full minute for her to actually say something.

"I left them," she said. Her voice was low and shook with an underlying reverberation, not much unlike the croaks of the frogs around them. "In a really, really sick way I've enjoyed my silence. I've felt relieved not having to tell you about them. And what I did to them. I'm a coward, you know."

"Ava—"

"I'm not saying this to be self deprecating," she interjected, waving her hand dismissively and looking back to Fred again. "I'm not telling you this to be romantic…lay out my cards, put all my flaws on the table and have you take me in your arms, dip me low, and tell me you like me anyway."

"Take you into my arms and dip you low?" Fred asked with a snort. "Are we supposed to be having a tango or something?"

"I'm telling you because it's important," Ava continued, ignoring him. "I left them there. I didn't have to. I chose to. And now that we're going to be looking for them…I don't know what we're going to find."

Fred stared at her, open mouthed for a few seconds, before clearing his throat and readjusting his legs on the dock. "What exactly do you mean when you say…you _chose_ to leave them?"

When he looked up to Ava's face again, he was slightly taken aback by how intensely she was staring at him. She was studying him hard; every minute detail of his facial expression, searching for the inevitable judgment she feared from him. Part of her face was desperate, and somehow Fred knew that it was stemming from hope—hopefulness that after she told him whatever she was about to, he'd still look at her the same he always had. After all, he'd done the same thing: when she had come and seen him at his worst last week, sweaty and high and crying and just overall disgusting—he'd practically felt the desperation melting off his face, chorusing through his voice. He had wanted her to see him at his lowest point and still smile at him and laugh with him and not be afraid of him. And she had done all of that. She had kissed him, after all of that.

And in that moment, Fred knew it was only right to return the favor.

_Lay out your ugly._

_Tell me your mistake._

_Tell me._

"Fred…have you ever…taken steps, and hurt people? Moved, towards something or away from something, just for your own agenda, for your own selfishness…steps…just steps…and hurt people?"

He reached forward to take her hands again, silently promising not to let go this time.

"Yes," he said.

"Okay," she whispered back.

"Tell me."

"You first."

Fred hesitated, but only for a second.

"Okay."

* * *

_November 1998_

_St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

"No."

Fred's heart dropped, but only a second before his anger and irritation level spiked.

"What the bloody hell did you just say?" he said through gritted teeth.

He heard his mother sigh from the chair to his left. "Language, Fred!" she hissed.

"Shut up for a second, Mum," he snapped. He kept his eyes trained on the Healer before him, standing at the foot of the bed. "Why are you denying my request for leave?"

"Mr. Weasley," the Healer sighed. Fred vaguely recalled his name was Hank. Hank the Healer. "I'm sorry. But we're not done here. You haven't finished your recovery."

"I'm finished when I say I'm bloody finished," he gruffed, and pushed his palms against the mattress, straightening up in his sitting position. His wrists rocked back and forth and shook with weakness; his lower back strained with a painful pulling sensation that got more intense by the second. He tried to hide his struggle but he knew it was too late.

Hank sighed again. "That. _That_ is exactly what I'm referring to. You're not strong enough. You've just started walking again, after six months. Why the rush?"

"Fred, dear," his mother said delicately. She sat on a wooden chair at his bedside, her hands twisting together. "Listen to the Healer. He knows best. He's right, there's no rush—"

"There's a rush when I've been sitting here like a God-forsaken cripple for _six fucking months_!" he roared, yanked the pillow from behind his head, and pathetically threw it across the room. It landed in the lap of an open mouthed, shocked Charlie. Bill sat beside him, equally flabbergasted. Ginny and Harry next to them. His father standing beside his mother, a hand on her shoulder. Ron and Hermione on the other side of the room beside a tense looking Percy. And George, in what had become his twin's official spot in the last six months, in a lounge chair to his right, barely a hair's width away from the bed.

His whole family, joined together for what they thought would be a celebratory day: Fred's release. Instead, they were being treated with front row seats to another one of Fred's pathetic St. Mungo's meltdowns. Fantastic.

Hank was impressively unaffected, still standing quite calmly near the edge of the bed, cool as a cucumber. "You are my patient," he said, his voice rather grave. "It is my responsibility to ensure your well-being. I would not rest easy at night if I let you go today knowing your body isn't ready."

Fred scratched his chin in mock deep thought. "Did it ever occur to you, Hank, that on my list of priorities, you resting easy at night is pretty fucking low?"

Molly audibly gasped beside him, and Fred swore he saw his father stumble in place. "That's enough, Fred!" Arthur said sternly. "These people are trying to help you. They've done all of this for you…for us!" he sputtered. His face was shiny with sweat. "Have some respect, my boy. We raised you better."

The silence after that was deafening, and Fred looked over to his twin out of the corner of his eye.

_He's right_, George's expression said.

Fred sighed heavily. More flies with honey than vinegar, they always said. And he was, admittedly, acting like a bit of a bastard.

"Hank," he addressed the Healer calmly. "What would convince you that I was, in fact, ready? Pure curiosity. What would make you look at me and say to yourself that I'm ready to go home?"

Hank crossed his arms and stared at Fred in thought, the tip of his tongue between his teeth. "You just started walking on your own, without assistance. Right now, you can make it a few steps. I'd need to see you make it from one side of the room to the other…unattended and without falter."

Fred stared back at him hard as Ginny's voice rose out of the silence.

"See, Fred? You heard him. And you're not there yet. And that's okay! It's not impossible, you've just got a long road ahead of—what are you doing?"

Fred had calmly reached forward, grasped the edge of the bedsheet in his fingertips, and peeled it away from his striped-pajama clad body. He looked down at his freckled toes.

_Wiggle, you bastards._

They fluttered before him beautifully. His toes were ready.

"Fred, are you warm, mate?" Charlie asked, striding to the window and opening it.

Ankles now. Kick, kick, kick, as though he were propelling himself in water.

The smallest of weakness pains radiated around his ankles that he'd just flexed. Bullshit.

_Don't give up so easily, feetsies, we've only just begun._

George, as per usual, already seemed to be reading his twin's mind.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he muttered to Fred.

"Extremely," Fred muttered back.

"Oh my. They're muttering. Healer Hank, they're plotting something," Percy said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Shut the hole in the middle of your face, Percy," said Fred. He gave his knees a test flex, bringing his thighs up off the bed a bit. His knee joints felt a bit creaky, but he could deal with that.

Arthur sighed. "What are you two up to, now?"

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

Fred could swear his body was tearing in half as he tensed his abdominal muscles and swung his legs around to hang off the side of the bed, his spine snapping, his stomach disemboweling, his top half separating from his hips. He ground his teeth together so hard he wouldn't have been surprised to feel one crack under the pressure of his jaws.

"Fred!" gasped Molly. "Stop!"

His toes tingled a bit as his legs dangled over the edge of the mattress, hovering above the cool tile floor. Pins and needles.

"Mr. Weasley, I'm afraid you've misunderstood me," drawled Hank. "You don't need to prove anything to me. This is not a test. This is recovery."

Fred met George's eyes. George's were worried, but he said nothing to discourage his twin. Fred's mind was made up. There was no going back now. He merely jerked his chin down in a single, stern nod.

Fred pushed himself off the side of the bed, his bare feet making a soft slapping sound on the hard ground. He squeezed his eyes shut, the world was tilting, the ground was shaking, his knees were knocking—

"Mr. Weasley!" exclaimed Hank, who leapt forward. Simultaneously, Molly's wooden chair scraped against the floor as she sprang to her feet as well.

Fred opened his tearing eyes to see George standing directly in front of him, his arms outstretched to the sides as though he were being crucified.

"Nobody touch him!" George proclaimed.

"Stop this, boys, stop it right now!" Arthur yelled, his face tomato red. But his feet stayed frozen in place.

Fred focused on the doorway across the room. It wasn't that far away, not at all. Eight good steps, he'd say.

"This is ridiculous," said Hank. "If you want to walk today, that's marvelous, but sit down before you hurt yourself and I'll get the physical therapy witch—"

George, in full protective mode of his twin, swung his arm out and caught Hank around the shoulders as he attempted to stride by him.

"Stay for the show," George said in a low voice.

Fred lifted his left foot, the weight of an anchor attached. Pulled it forward. Stepped.

One.

He lifted his right foot, the weight of a thousand cannon balls pulling him back. Ignored them. Pulled it forward. Stepped.

His lower back strained again.

Two.

George adjusted himself out of Fred's way, standing beside him now instead of in front of him. He let his arm fall from Healer Hank's chest, who was standing there, seemingly frozen in place and bewildered, watching Fred with an open mouth.

Left foot. Anchor. Step.

Three.

"Please stop it, Fred," he heard his mother's tearful voice plead from behind. "You've done a brilliant job today, this is progress, but please, stop, you'll hurt yourself—"

Molly must have attempted to take another step forward to rescue her son, because George whipped around to look behind him and hold out his arm again.

"Let him do this, Mum," he said in a firm voice. "Just let him do it."

Right foot. Cannon balls. Step.

His calf threatened to cramp. He gritted his teeth harder, his forehead moist with sweat.

Four.

Left foot. He was already impossibly exhausted.

Fuck it.

Step.

Five.

"You're going to do it, Fred," whispered George excitedly. "You've got this."

Right foot. His vision tilted. Fuck his vision, he was going to walk today.

Step.

Six.

"You're stronger than I thought, Fred," said Hank softly.

Fred. He'd called him by his first name.

Left foot. Was his leg stuck in quicksand? It felt so heavy. His muscles refused to work.

He simply dragged the pit of quicksand along with him.

Step.

Seven.

The doorway was almost right in front of him. Fred could hear voices and the shuffling of footsteps in the corridor.

He thought about going home. What would be home, now? Back to his flat with George? Probably not. He'd most likely head to the Burrow and let his family care for him for some time.

That was okay.

_Get me the hell out of this place. One more step. Just one more._

In the truest of Fred Weasley fashions, he looked behind him, resting his chin on his shoulder and making eye contact with Hank the Healer. He smirked with one side of his mouth, lopsided and cocky as ever.

"Eight," he counted out loud, as he brought his right foot forward to meet his left. "Sign my fucking papers, Hank. I'm going home."

* * *

_December 25th, 2001_

_Project Merryweather_

_Location Unknown_

Annie Wu got the nickname "Fox" back in Middle School, because she was fast.

Wicked fast.

And there was another thing: she was sneaky, too. Her speed wasn't that of a cheetah, all power and strength and bloodthirst. It was quiet and small, her tiny feet and delicate ankles constantly poised on the ground as though she were about to leap to her tip-toes and take off in a sprint, darting by her opponent before they even knew what had just happened.

A dark streak, glossy black hair whipping out behind her, flying down a blinding white hallway.

Fox.

At a little over six feet tall and muscular, Callaghan was slower, and weaker to boot, from recent beatings. But the determination on his face said it all: he was leaving. Speed or no speed. His jaw set tightly, thick arms shiny with sweat pumping at his sides, black-brown curls spilling and bouncing over his forehead. He was no fox. He was a juggernaut.

Ava was between them, running in line behind Fox, her eyes desperately trained on the girl in front of her who had once been an all-state track star, silently praying Fox wouldn't outrun her by mistake.

They had agreed to stay together. No matter what.

Ava was clutching the security guard's ID badge so tightly in her right hand, she could swear the edges were cutting into her skin. Nothing mattered more than that security card right now. Nothing.

Suddenly, the sterile white hallway they were sprinting down seemed to drown in electric blue as circular emergency lights that mounted the walls went off, spinning and sending beams of cobalt up and down the passage. A siren, high pitched and shrill, began wailing.

"CODE BLUE, CODE BLUE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. REPORT TO YOUR STATIONS IMMEDIATELY!" the speakers overhead blasted with a deep, masculine voice.

Ava's stomach dropped.

"Shit!" Callaghan yelled from behind, his voice having a bouncing effect as he continued running. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Instead of tiring, Fox was appearing to become more exhilarated by the second. Her speed impossibly quickened, and she was appearing smaller and smaller in front of Ava as they traveled down the seemingly never-ending hallway.

"Fox!" Ava yelled. "Wait for us!"

At first it appeared that Fox had obliged and stopped short for the other two, but had oddly taken to doing some kind of frantic dance. But as the other two approached closer, Ava noticed she wasn't dancing: she was jumping up and down, madly pointing to what had appeared to be nothing in front of her. But it wasn't nothing; it was a wall of solid glass, with a seam of separation running down the middle.

"Gimme the card!" Fox screamed.

Ava ran forward with her arm outstretched, the ID badge in her fingertips. Fox jumped forward and plucked it from her, and darted to the left wall where a small plastic card swiper was mounted. She ran the card through and the glass wall separated with a hiss.

"Let's go!" Fox screamed, and bounded ahead down the next hallway.

Ava looked over her shoulder to check on Callaghan, a blue light turning in her direction and blinding her for a moment. When the spots in front of her eyes dissipated, Callaghan came into view. He was falling behind, his arms clutching at his left side.

She threw out her arm behind her. "Come on, Cal, come on!"

He gritted his teeth and reached forward, and their hands met, squeezing and gripping each other hard. Ava curled her arm and dragged Callaghan up beside her.

"Which way, which way?!" came Fox's panicked voice from up ahead. The hallway was forking; the left side continuing in a downwards sloping ramp, the right, a flight of stairs.

Ava slowed her steps and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, for just a moment, trying to summon the security guard's memory of Merryweather's layout that she had taken from him mere minutes earlier. But everything seemed fuzzy; her labored breathing and heart pounding in her ears was making it incredibly difficult to concentrate.

"Ava! Which way?!"

She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember. Oh God.

"I-I don't know!" she cried, coming to a stop beside an impatient looking Fox and dropping Callaghan's hand.

"Shit!" Fox cried, slapping her forehead with her hand.

"We've always thought we were underground somewhere, haven't we?" Callaghan gasped. "Let's go up!"

The three of them nodded together, and this time, Ava lead the way, taking the stairs two at a time. They wound up a dimly lit passageway, ten stairs up and a sharp turn to the left, ten stairs, sharp turn, over and over again. Their ragged breathing chorused together loudly and the tight stairway felt humid, the air, thick.

Suddenly, a thundering of boot-clad footsteps became quite noticeable, growing closer and closer by the second. They were accompanied by some masculine voices talking loudly and sternly, sounding as though they were giving orders, although Ava couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

Fox gasped from behind. "They're coming up!" she screeched, and Ava felt Fox's small hand pressing into her lower back as she urger her to climb the stairs faster.

They made another turn on to an additional small flight, only to notice it was the last one, the landing opening up to another hallway bathed in electric blue light and shrieking with sirens. This one, however, was much wider than the one they had come from on the bottom level.

"Help me!" came Callaghan's strangled voice from behind.

Ava whipped her head around to look behind her before she finished ascending the stairs, only to have Fox roughly shove by her as she charged past, leaping up the last two steps and into the hallway beyond.

"Fox, Cal needs our help!" Ava screamed.

Fox either didn't hear her, or pretended not to. She continued running down the hallway alone, and Ava was left torn in the middle, hesitatingly hovering on the last few steps.

"Damn you, Cal!" she whispered under her breath, and found her feet taking her back down the stairs from which she came.

Two landings down, she saw it: Callaghan on his stomach, a guard in his all white uniform and helmet standing on his back as he struggled beneath, another one restraining his ankles and another trying to slip a restraint on his thick wrists.

"Hey!" Ava screamed as she jumped down the last four stairs and stumbled on to the landing. All three guards whipped their heads up to look at her and raised their hands, white guns poised in their grips with their fingers on the trigger.

She didn't know what it was: the desperation of seeing Callaghan struggling along the ground, the blood pounding in her ears, or the anger that was seething in her chest at the thought of Fox running by her and leaving them behind, but somehow, Ava was able to concentrate hard. She looked back and forth at the three guards, making direct contact with their pupils one by one in only a couple of seconds.

"Put down your weapons and go to sleep," she ordered, her voice deep.

A dazed look washed over their faces as their hands opened, the pistols clattering to the ground. They sat in place, and slumped on to their sides in the fetal position, their eyes fluttering shut.

"Let's go Cal!" she yelled as he scrambled to his feet. He doubled back, bent at the waist, to snatch up one of the guns from the floor.

They reached the wide hallway at the end of the stairwell and resumed their running, passing by sealed doors and thin side-hallways on their left and right. The passage ended up ahead and sharply turned to the left.

"Oof!" Ava huffed as the wind was knocked out of her by slamming into something solid. She was sent careening backwards across the floor along with Callaghan and looked up to see what she had collided with: another guard, but this was one of the magical ones. His white uniform was topped off with a white cloak, and a wand was raised in his hand, his mouth opening with an oncoming spell.

"Aaarrrgghh!" came a high pitched shriek, and a smudge of black leapt on to the guard's back, long onyx hair whipping around to his face. He spun around with his arms waving wildly about as his wand clattered to the ground, and Fox was revealed to be hanging on to him from behind, her thin legs wrapped around his hips and her forearm pulling backwards against his throat. He spun around again, and his eyes were bulging.

The guard squeezed his eyes shut and slammed himself backwards on to the white wall, pinning Fox against it and his body. She cried out in pain and slid to the ground, the security badge dropping from her hand and sliding across the tiled floor ahead.

Ava ran forward to retrieve it as Callaghan dove to pick up the crumpled Fox.

Strangely enough, she heard the bang before she felt the pain.

A crack echoed through the hallway, loud enough to be painful to the ears, and Ava's breath choked in her throat. Her eyesight turned white and her right leg suddenly stopped working. She crashed to the ground just as the security badge met her fingertips, sliding forward on her stomach as the pain hit her outer thigh: sharp and deep and hot. She raised her chin off the ground to look behind her and saw her leg as a mangled mess, some off the fabric from the black pants she wore blown off and small chunks of flesh mingling among splatters of blood spread across the floor, magnificently scarlet against the white.

"You shot me!" she screamed to no one in particular, and strained her neck further behind her to observe the scene.

She wanted to see Callaghan supporting a dazed Fox, running toward her in concern. She wanted to see anything but what she actually saw.

The guard that Fox had leapt on to was now holding her long black hair in a handful, pulling it brutally straight away from her scalp as she began to scream and flail. Another guard stood behind her, his leg hooked around the front of hers and stomping her feet down in place, reaching up to grab her thin arms and pull them behind her to cuff her.

Callaghan was beside her, down on all fours, a thin stream of blood dripping from his mouth and his head hanging. A guard stood beside him sneering, and landed a kick to his abdomen. He coughed and fell flat on his belly, his eyes squeezing shut and moaning. Another guard bent down to restrain him, a gun forgotten on the floor in front of him. He must have been the one to shoot Ava, now pre-occupied with his capture of Callaghan.

Ava turned her head forward again in an attempt to regain her balance, her entire face screwed up tightly in pain and her teeth gritted together as she dragged herself to her feet, her right leg weak and hanging, blood leaking out of her outer thigh. She pressed her hand against it, gasping in pain, attempting to stem the flow.

Fox was small, but she was fighting hard, whipping her body back and forth and side to side with all her might as the guards tried to restrain her, screaming breathless _"No! No!"'_s the entire time. Callaghan did the same, rolling back and forth and yelling inaudibly.

Ava spotted the gun on the floor in front of Callaghan's head, the same one that had just shot her. She dove for it and straightened up, first pointing it at the guard yanking on Fox's hair.

Ava was no stranger to shooting guns. She'd been doing it all her life, out in open fields in Vermont with her friends. And this son of a bitch's head was nothing more than target practice, a rusty coffee can perched on a log.

She squeezed the trigger, and another crack exploded through the hallway. The guard's head whipped backwards, showering everyone with blood as he crumpled to the floor, dead, what had once been his face now a twisted mess of smoking flesh.

The other three guards looked up in alarm, open mouthed. Callaghan took his opportunity and rose up, roaring with his arms above him, resembling an angry bear standing on it's hind legs confronted in the woods. He bent at the waist and bowed his head as he charged forward, stretching out both his arms and catching two guards around the stomach. His tackle sent them flying down the hallway, crashing into the wall.

"Aaahhhhh!" Fox screamed in a battle cry of sorts, and ran towards the last guard, her arms out in front of her and her fingers curled like claws. She scratched him across the face as Ava aimed the pistol to his middle and squeezed the trigger again.

She dropped the gun immediately after the kickback as the guard crumpled to the floor clutching his abdomen, dark blood leaking out between his fingers. Fox was suddenly in front of her, waving the security badge she'd retrieved from the ground around above her head.

"Let's get the fuck out of here!" she yelled above the continuos screech of the sirens.

Callaghan dove in front of Ava and knelt, his back to her. "Get on, you cant run!"

She didn't have to be told twice; her thigh was throbbing harder than she'd ever felt anything in her life, it was as though an invisible drum was inside of her leg, banging against the outer wall. She stumbled forward and threw her arms around Callaghan's neck as he grabbed each of her legs at his sides and stood, already at a run, Ava bouncing in her piggy-back as he sprinted.

They ran up one more flight of stairs that suddenly opened into an enormous atrium at the top. It was a dome of sorts, the rounded walls and ceiling coated in what looked like steel. A huge sculpture dangled from the ceiling by cables: a bold **M** with the mirrored **W** beneath it. There were thin hallways branching out of the domed room to the left and right, with a horseshoe-shaped reception desk in the middle. It faced what appeared to be the only sealed door in the room: narrow, with a matching steel handle, and a glorious red EXIT sign glowing above it.

"That's it!" Ava said excitedly, reaching out over Callaghan's shoulder and pointing to the door with her index finger.

Fox and Callaghan sprinted forward towards the horseshoe-shaped desk, Ava clutching desperately on to his shoulders. They were all gasping for breath, soaked in sweat and blood, but there were undeniable grins on their faces as they made their way across the room: they were getting out. They were going home.

They were, and then they weren't.

It all just happened so fast.

What sounded like a mass amount of firecrackers going off from behind them suddenly brought Callaghan to his knees, hard. He sprawled forward as he went down, sending Ava in a full somersault over his shoulder and sliding across the slippery tile floor.

She felt the top of her head slam into the small wall of the reception desk. She opened her eyes, dazed and blanking rapidly, only to discover the huge room engulfed in a thick grey smoke. Vague outlines of dozens of white-uniform clad soldiers spilled into the atrium from the staircase, long rifles in their arms and goggles on their faces. They were yelling to one another and waving their arms, barking out orders to search the room and hallway branches to the left and right.

Ava coughed again and reached up, patting the side of the desk and following the curve around to the front, crawling on all fours in a desperate attempt to stay low to the ground and hide. She reached the rounded front edge and collapsed for a second, her eyes burning, her leg wet and throbbing, her chest tight, her head swimming.

For just that second, she considered giving up.

Why continue running?

Why continue fighting?

For what?

"AVAAAA!"

Her head shot up from resting on her knees.

"AVAAAAAAA!"

That was Fox's voice, screaming.

Ava gritted her teeth hard against the pain that assaulted her weak leg as she slowly perched up on her knees, her fingertips hanging on the edge of the desk. She peeked over the top and squinted through the smoke.

Callaghan was still face-down on the ground and appeared to be unconscious. Ava saw a pool of blood collecting around his calves and ankles as guards handcuffed him behind his back, and realized several gunshot wounds around his feet was what brought him down from running.

Fox was belly-down on the ground as well, four guards restraining her at various angles as she squirmed and whipped about, trying to escape as they bound her wrists and ankles. Her almond shaped eyes were squinting hard through the smoke-filled room as well, scanning everything rapidly as she wailed.

"Ava! Don't you leave us, Ava! Don't you fucking leave us!"

Leave.

The door.

She turned her head over her shoulder. The door was right there with a small keypad mounted to the wall, the blazing red EXIT sign up above.

Leave.

She could leave.

"AAAAVVVAAAAAA! GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME YOU BASTARDS! AVA! DON'T FUCKING LEAVE US!"

"There's another here, search around the desk!" a man's voice yelled.

The decision was made somewhere in her subconscious.

She was leaving.

Leaving Merryweather.

And leaving the ones she promised not to leave behind.

Without even realizing she was doing it, as though something took over her body entirely, Ava scrambled around to the door behind her, and her hand rose up to the keypad. She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking back to the guard's memory she'd invaded right before their escape.

She could see his hand now, his knuckles hairy, moving over the keypad over and over and over again, at the end of each work day. It was a memorized routine.

4

1

4

9

8

Even amongst the chaos, Ava heard the mechanical clicking sound as the door released. Her heart pounded damn near out of her chest.

Fox's wails, which had sounded angry, now sounded desperate. And as Ava rose to her feet and pushed the door open just an inch, a wave of grey mist swirling around her, she cast one last look over her shoulder.

Fox was being dragged away. Literally dragged; her heels sliding against the floor as a guard pulled her backwards towards the stairs. Callaghan's unconscious figure was nowhere to be seen.

"Ava, Ava, please don't leave us! Please don't leave us! Please!"

Then she was angry again as she disappeared down the stairs, the guards using all of their might to hang on to her tiny kicking and screaming body.

"YOU PROMISED US, YOU BITCH! ALL OR NOTHING! YOU PROMISED WE'D GET OUT TOGETHER! AVA, YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU PROMISED US!"

Ava shoved her body weight against the door and ran.

She ran, the gunshot graze on the side of her leg temporarily forgotten.

She ran, Fox's screams still echoing in her head.

She ran along a dark tunnel, the smell of dirt filling her nose, the fluttering of what sounded like bats up above.

She ran hard, harder than she'd ever run, until the tunnel let out to a wide expanse of shallow water where trees appeared to float among the pools of moisture. The buzzing of insects filled the air. It was pitch black, the dead of night, her eyes squinting and struggling to adjust to the lack of light, her nose scrunching up against the foul smell of the surrounding swamp.

She didn't hesitate. She leapt forward, splashing through the deep puddles and feeling her boots fill with water.

She took her freedom steps, knowing each stride she took was taking her farther and farther away from Merryweather.

Farther and farther away from Fox and Callaghan.

Each step bringing her her own personal justice.

Each step reminding her of her betrayal.

Quite suddenly as she ran, she remembered: it was Christmas.

_Silent night, holy night_

She made no effort to be quiet. She grunted in pain as she ran, her thigh exploding in agony with every step she took fighting against the mud.

_All is calm, All is bright_

More steps, more reminders of her sins. She'd killed someone tonight. She'd shot him in the face. She'd killed someone.

_Round yon virgin, Mother and Child _

_Holy infant, So tender and mild_

Oh God, what were they going to do with Sarah's baby now? What had they done with Sarah's body? She hadn't even thought about it until now, a year and a half later.

What would she do?

Where would she go?

Who could possibly help her now?

Who would believe her about it, all of it?

Magic. Mind ripping. Steven. Jason. Sarah. The baby. Fox. Callaghan.

She took more steps, not daring to slow or look back.

_Sleep in heavenly peace,_

_Sleep in heavenly peace._


	19. Chapter 19--Citadel

**Chapter 19—Citadel**

"_Oh, and Minister, did I mention I'm resigning?"_

"_You're joking Perce! You actually are joking! I don't think I've heard you joke since you were—"_

_Since you were_

_Since_

_Time seemed to slow down suddenly as Fred turned to his right to look at Percy, the muscles in his face tugging into a grin and the swell of an oncoming laugh bubbling through his stomach and rising into his chest, then throat._

_I don't think I've heard you joke since you were—_

_Since you were_

_Since_

_Fred swore his eardrum itself shattered from within his left ear as a deep, rumbling explosion sounded directly next to his head. His eyes squeezed shut reflexively as dust and debris sprayed across his face, assaulting his vision, tears instantly beginning blossom from behind his closed lids. Something crashed into his left shoulder, heavier and more solid than anything he'd ever felt in his life, and he could feel his arm breaking, the bone inside splitting clean in half, his shoulder separating from the socket, his fingers losing all strength and dropping his wand to the stone floor._

_He felt himself vomiting from the shock of the pain as he pitched to the side, hot and sour in his mouth, filling his throat, choking him. His right shoulder slammed into the ground and he choked further as he felt that one break from the inside, too._

_I don't think I've heard you joke since you were—_

_Since_

_Since_

_He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to see what was happening, see what was falling on him, get up, crawl away, go home with George, hide under the sheets in bed like a child, forget this horrible night ever happened._

_The impossible heaviness that had collided with his shoulder now piled upon his legs. Fred felt both of his ankles twisting the wrong way, twisting, tighter and tighter; he screamed as he felt them break too. Then it was his knees, enduring the sensation of his kneecaps sliding farther and farther away from their proper places under the weight of whatever was piling upon them, his screaming becoming hoarse and gasping as he felt them pop and fully separate from his legs._

_He wanted to open his eyes. He didn't want to go like this, no, not like this, fallen and blinded. He wanted to finish teasing Percy. He wanted to fly on his broom. He wanted to have hot tea with honey. He wanted to laugh with George again. He wanted to go back to the days at Hogwarts where his biggest worry was being caught out of bed by Filch. Hell, he would settle for going back to that morning to change out of the hideous green checkered jacket George had convinced him to wear._

_He wanted to open his eyes, but the rough grain trapped behind his lids wouldn't let him._

_He wanted to eat his mother's cooking once more. He wanted to jump into Crater Lake. He wanted to hear the bell of the cash register in his and George's shop. He wanted to fall in love. He wanted to father children._

_Fred forced himself to open his eyes, and even through the blurriness of his tears, he could see the rough stone texture of the wall coming down upon him, a deep, metallic groan wailing through the air as the corridor collapsed in on itself._

_He squeezed his eyes shut, making a promise to himself in that minute fraction of a second before the impact. He promised he would never let himself feel this way ever again. Helpless. Panicked. Vulnerable._

_It's why he laughed so much, and made others laugh with him. To avoid feeling like this._

_Never, ever again._

_No more. No more. Just let me die. No more. _

_I don't have a witty comeback. I don't have a prank planned for revenge. _

_I have nothing. Nothing but this wall on top of me._

_A hand gripped his broken arm painlessly, firm yet gentle._

_A mouth pressed against his lips softly, warm and sweet, that tasted the way lavender smelled. He was weightless, floating for a moment, and then he was laying down again, dirt hot from the sunlight under his skin._

"_Open your eyes."_

"_I can't."_

"_Open your eyes, Fred."_

_He felt his lids pulling apart slowly and everything came swimming into place. She was above him, gently laying on his chest, her long blonde hair hanging down on one side and tickling his cheek. Sunlight streamed from behind her head, and as she watched him open his eyes fully and blink a few times, her lips spread into a smile._

"_Ava," he choked out. He blinked again, and tears rolled down the side of his face._

"_Mm?" she hummed in response, her thumb wiping away the tears._

"_Where are we?"_

"_We're safe."_

"_The Memorial's today. Are we late?"_

"_No Fred. We'll be just on time."_

_He blinked a couple more times and she gently moved off from his chest, allowing him to sit up. They were in the grass, under the tree in the field behind the Burrow. It was oddly silent and still, and the browns of the tall grass, the blue of the sky, the green of the leaves above them—everything seemed to shine a bit. He couldn't decide if the scene around him looked too vivid, or not real enough. And Ava just sat next to him quietly, soft white sundress fanned around her legs._

_Fred sighed, the scene familiar to him, realizing that she'd pulled him from his nightmare. "I'm dreaming again, aren't I?"_

_Ava nodded. "Yeah. You are."_

"_Thank you for getting me out of there."_

"_Well, I couldn't just leave you."_

_Fred looked down at his legs, elongated straight out before him on the ground. He was wearing jeans and his feet were bare, the freckles on his toes vivid against his fair skin. Nothing was piled upon him, nothing was broken or twisted or bent. The panic that had been assaulting him had vanished._

"_Can we stay here?" he asked softly, still staring at his legs._

"_We can't. It's time to get up."_

"_Please?"_

"_I'm sorry, Fred. Don't worry, I'm coming with you."_

_Ava stuck her arm out into Fred's line of vision and he reached up to take her hand._

Everything fell away, moving out of a place in time, ripping, fading, melting. It was all grey around him, then black, and before he even opened his eyes, the clarity of what was real and what wasn't washed over him as he woke up from his dream.

* * *

Grief is an abandoned well.

It's a long journey down to the bottom, where everything is rotting and stagnant. It's deep and dark and it's dank, and reeks of things lost. It's the ghost of something that was once so useful to the world, once beloved, and is now forgotten, bathed in shadow and rapidly archaic.

Something is here one day, and then suddenly it's not.

Grief is a sea of people robed in black, greys, blues, and purples, unsure of what to do with themselves. Some make small talk and catch up with old friends from the past, some share their grief outwardly and sob, and some brave the storm alone, standing unaided and staring out at nothing at all.

And the abandoned well of grief is usually dug so deeply, even the most powerful rays of sunshine can not begin to penetrate the bottom.

The second of May was shaping up to be unseasonably warm, already nearly sweltering hot by nine in the morning. But the bright Spring day held a bristling heaviness; an invisible storm cloud that seemed to hover over the crowd gathered in front of the Black Lake of Hogwarts. This was a familiar gathering place for grief; the same place the funeral for Dumbledore was held.

The sharp sound of the snapping of fabric in the wind brought Ava's gaze up to the blindingly blue, open sky above her. There, arranged in a wide crescent shape hovering above the wooden stage, was a number of black flags. They appeared to be made out of a shiny, sleek fabric, perhaps satin, and held in place against the breeze all on their own, as if invisible flagpoles raised them. Ava's eyes traveled over them as she counted them silently. There were sixty-six.

"You know," came Fred's voice from beside her, "if that wall had just collapsed on me a little harder, there'd be sixty-seven of those."

Ava turned to look at him, her mouth slightly open and completely unsure of what to say back to his morose statement. George, who was sitting in the row in front of them, his chair back lined up to Fred's front, turned around to gape at his twin in horror as well. Fred's face was oddly blank and dreamy as he stared up at the flags billowing in the breeze.

George and Ava's eyes met and he shot her a sort of pleading look. Ava shook her head back at him and fought off a flutter of nausea. Frankly, the waves of emotion Fred was sporadically releasing were making her feel rather sick: one second he was completely closed off, sitting there with a blank expression on his face and the emotional static numbness at full blast, the next, Ava had to stop herself from doubling over with the onslaught of anxiety he inadvertently sent her way. The first few times it had happened, Ava felt as though she could maybe get used to it; it was like being on a small fishing boat that occasionally rocked back and forth on the water. But now, as she saw his face, the dreamy look dissipating and suddenly becoming twisted with worry, beads of sweat covering his forehead and upper lip, she realized it: the boat had capsized and he was drowning.

He suddenly raised his hands to reach inside his black dragon hyde suit jacket, and extracted a flask bound in brown leather. George and Ava watched in identical incredulity as he unscrewed the cap and lifted it to his lips, taking a swig and quickly pocketing it again.

"Oh sweet fucking Merlin," George moaned.

"Fred," Ava said softly. She reached over and touched Fred's hand, which felt clammy to the touch.

He didn't answer, but his hands rose to his chest again, this time frantically attempting to unbutton his thick black jacket, his face in a panic.

"Your hands are shaking," Ava said gently, and reached over to place both of hers on his. They steadied for a moment, still fumbling on a button. "Let me help you," she whispered, and he let his hands fall slowly to his lap. She undid the buttons for him calmly, looking up at his face the whole time. He was avoiding her gaze, staring out at the lake with a rather pained expression.

"Fred," she repeated, her hands leaving the buttons of his jacket but still resting up against his chest. His heart was pounding through his light grey shirt so powerfully, Ava could swear she could see the fabric pulsating slightly.

He finally turned, looking down at her with his jaw tight and his entire forehead lined with anxiety. "I don't think I can do this," he whispered. "There's so many...people. And they all know what happened to me. If I get one more look of grateful pity, like, 'oh, at least you survived!', I swear I'm throwing myself into the lake and swimming home..."

She bit her bottom lip and turned from side to side slowly, observing the thick crowd around them. Most of the golden colored seats were filled and even then, there were scores of other guests standing in clusters dotted across the lawn. She leaned close to him to mutter in reply. "I know I'm probably not supposed to ask this right now...I'm supposed to instill confidence in you and tell you that you can do this and all that good stuff...but honestly...do you...want to leave?"

"Can we go back to sleep and you can bring us to the field again?" he replied, giving a short, sarcastic laugh, and shaking his head to himself.

Ava exhaled deeply through her nose. "You're thinking about the nightmare, aren't you?"

"The nightmare?" George asked, still leaning over the back of his chair towards them, his voice full of concern. "What nightmare?"

"Last night, when he was sleeping at the Treehouse with me? I saw him thrashing in his sleep, so I went in and I...I found him...in some rubble," Ava said rather pathetically, fidgeting awkwardly in her seat.

"Excuse me?"

Fred absentmindedly nodded back at the both of them, chewing on his upper lip hard for a moment. "Of course I had to re-live it last night, right, the night before we come here? I mean, I've avoided being here on the anniversary for the past three years, now on the fourth I'm beginning to understand why..."

George and Ava exchanged looks again; a mix of worry, dread, and hopelessness.

"Everything's going to be okay," she finally said, cringing at the lameness of her own statement.

George cleared his throat. "Yeah mate, come on now, I've got your back, we all do...and as soon as this is over we'll go straight to the Three Broomsticks...I'll grab Angelina and the four of us can get stinking drunk and sing some drinking songs, get kicked out or something fun like that..."

Fred begrudgingly smiled along with George and Ava leaned into him slightly and nudged him with her elbow.

"Just no more of _this_, alright?" she said, poking the outline of the flask through his jacket. "You can get through the service without it. No liquid courage allowed."

Fred's smile grew into a grin and he sighed, shaking his head in embarrassment. "No, you're right," he said. He caught her wrist gently on the way down as she lowered it after touching the flask. "I'll be fine. Just...don't let this go, okay?" he pleaded with a squeeze of her hand.

She squeezed back with a small smile. "Okay."

George nodded in approval, and smiled widely, looking over Ava's shoulder. "Ah, speaking of Ang, there she is," he said happily, waving his arm and standing up. "Be right back."

"Oh, that's his fiance, isn't it?" Ava asked, turning in her seat to look where George went. "I'm excited to meet the woman brave enough to pledge her life to one of you nightmares," she teased Fred, nudging him again and grinning.

Fred didn't look as entertained. "Ava," he suddenly muttered in a hurried voice. "There's something you should know, about George's fiance. You see, she's—"

But Fred stopped short of talking as he seemingly ran out of time. George and a tall, dark skinned girl with impossibly long eyelashes and glossy black hair were making their way over to him and Ava. They held hands, a light blue stone framed in tiny diamonds sparkling on one of her fingers, and talked to one another excitedly as they neared.

"Hey," Ava whispered hurriedly back. "I know her. Well, I don't know her, but I've seen her before—where have I seen her before? Was she at the Order meeting? Did I miss her?"

"Horse. Carriage," Fred muttered through gritted teeth as he faked a toothy grin at the approaching couple, as though he were a ventriloquist.

"Huh?"

"Horse carriage," he hissed back rapidly, the two words becoming one as he said them speedily and without pause. "Angie, hi! Hi! How are you?"

George and Angelina filed in to the row in front of Fred and Ava, settling themselves into seats directly in line with them. They twisted around and Angelina returned Fred's greeting, although hers was not as hilariously falsely enthusiastic. Ava smiled at her widely but then suddenly took notice of her eyes, framed by her thick lashes—they were the lightest of browns, nearly gold in color. Very pretty, and very unique. Damn, she swore she'd seen them before.

Horse carriage.

Oh God.

This was the girl Ava had seen when she'd looked at Fred's memories, an old one from when he was a teenager, the two of them inside a dusty unused horse carriage with velvet seats, the windows fogged—

"Hi Fred," she said warmly, smiling. She turned her gaze to Ava, her golden eyes traveling down to where her and Fred still held hands on his lap and back up to her face, peering at her curiously. "And hi...you must be Ava. I've heard a lot about you. Really nice to finally meet you."

"It's great to meet you too," Ava replied, doing the best she could to hide the shock in her voice. "Congrats on the upcoming nuptials. When's the wedding? George mentioned it but I forgot."

"The twelfth," she replied promptly, looking over to George and giggling. "Ten more days, and I'll be your official ball and chain."

"No, I'm going to be _your_ bloody ball and chain," George countered, grinning back at her.

Ava couldn't help but notice her eyes leaving George and looking over at Ava again out of the corner of her eye, curiosity filling her face.

"What? Do I have food stuck in my teeth or something?" Ava finally asked, looking back and forth between the twins. They shrugged together.

Angelina looked back and forth between them as well, avoiding Ava's eyes, clearly uncomfortable. "No, no, you don't. You're fine. It's just...I imagined you...differently."

A couple beats of silence passed between the four of them before Fred and George simultaneously burst into snorts of laughter. The girls exchanged bewildered looks at the boys' sudden expression of hysterics.

"The fuck is so funny?" Angelina hissed to George, who was nearly doubled over in mirth.

"Hold on, just...hold on," he replied to her, straightening up and pulling his wand out of his jacket. He dropped Angelina's hand and leaned towards Ava just as Fred extracted his own wand.

"What are you guys doing?" Ava asked.

Neither of them answered; instead, George reached over the back of his chair, and wordlessly grasped the pink crystal illusion necklace she wore with his free hand, holding it out away from her chest. He and Fred touched it with the tips of their wands.

"_Tollio lavarakae_!" they said together, and then leaned in close, their mouths nearly touching the amulet as though they were about to tell it a secret. "Angelina Johnson," they whispered in unison.

George dropped the necklace, letting it fall back to it's natural place at the end of the silver chain hanging around Ava's neck. He and Fred straightened up, and when George leaned back to take his original place in his seat beside Angelina, she let out an audible gasp.

"Oh! Oooohhh! You stupid gits, I'm standing here wondering to myself when Freddie developed a thing for older women with closely cropped hair..." she trailed off, shaking her head in embarrassment but laughing. "It's nice to meet the _real_ you, Ava."

"Don't say her name too loud, sweetheart," George muttered, casting a nervous glance around them. "Remember what I told you. The situation is kind of...delicate." His paranoia was instantly contagious; the three others quickly began looking around the mildly busy scene, too. But everyone blended together: sad faces, quiet voices, and dark robes.

"What's going on?" Fred whispered impatiently, raising his free hand and checking his watch. "We were supposed to start fifteen minutes ago."

Angelina snorted. "When did you become concerned about punctuality?"

"I just want this day to be over, Ang," Fred muttered back, his eyes staring past her and vaguely into the distance across the lake.

All traces of the smirk on her face instantly vanished, and she replied with a tight nod. "Okay," she said gently. She and George turned back around to face front and leaned their heads together, whispering and gesturing towards the vast crowd of what had to be students suddenly spilling out of the front doors of the castle and making their way down the lawn towards the memorial stage. All were wearing robes of mainly black, but some had accents of green, some had red, some were blue, and the rest were yellow. They were all varying in age, some of them still appearing as children and some of them nearly adults. They were lead by what Ava assumed to be their professors, urging the sea of students to stay quiet and respectful, and instructing them to stand at the back.

"Hey," whispered Ava to Fred, leaning in close. "What's going on with Harry and Ginny over there?" She jutted her chin out in the direction across the lawn, opposite the students on the other end of the setup of chairs around the stage, and Fred turned to see what she was looking at.

Harry and Ginny were standing with an older woman, who wore draped Grecian-style black robes and her grey hair in a loose bun at the top of her head. Harry had a small boy who appeared to be around four years old perched on his shoulders and Ginny reached up to tickle his ribs, his tiny loafer-clad feet kicking happily at Harry's chest as he giggled. Ava's eyes widened in surprise as his charming, childish laugh intensified and his formerly sandy blonde hair rapidly changed to cobalt blue and back again.

"That's Harry's Godson, Teddy," Fred whispered back. "The older woman is Andromeda, Teddy's maternal grandmother."

"What about his parents?" Ava whispered back.

Fred shook his head grimly. "We'll be honoring them today."

Ava stared after them, an odd expression of what almost looked like longing taking over her face. "It's not fair," she said with a bitter laugh, and hung her head towards the ground, staring intently at the emerald grass beneath their feet.

"What's that?"

"People being taken away," she replied after a couple seconds, looking up to meet his eyes. "It's just not fair, you know?"

Fred maintained his eye contact with her and squeezed her hand. "I know." He looked away to scan the crowd and smiled as his eyes stumbled upon a happy scene. "Some families still get to be whole, though." She turned her head to look in the direction he was and found herself smiling as well.

It was a family standing alongside another couple. A middle aged man, standing beside presumably his wife, had his wand out and was making sparkling silver butterflies erupt from the tip as he talked with the other adults. Their two young daughters and the other couples' even younger son were thoroughly entertained; giggling and shrieking with delight as they made chase after the shining creatures in circles around their parents.

"Like yours," she finally replied, and squeezed his hand back. He turned back to her, the smallest of smiles on his lips, and they settled into a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes.

"Hello, all," came a pleasant voice from the left.

Both Fred and Ava and George and Angelina alike turned to see a beaming Hermione. She was in elegant attire, wearing a charcoal colored dress with flowing robes of the same color and fabric, both of which were straining over her very prominent pregnant belly.

"Hermione!" exclaimed Angelina, standing up on her toes and leaning over a still-sitting George to exchange a quick kiss on the cheek. "You look beautiful."

She smiled graciously and blushed a little as Angelina sat back down. "Thanks, but I _feel _like I've got a Quaffle stuck permanently 'round my middle. Thank God I'm due within the next two weeks."

"Due?!" George gasped, clutching his heart through his chest. "You mean to tell me...you're going to have a baby, Hermione?"

"And here we thought you just were eating a few too many puddings," Fred sighed wistfully, shaking his head at his twin.

"Oh stop it, you two. That joke was unfunny weeks ago," Angelina said, but she was laughing. "I wish you the easiest of deliveries Hermione, but please, I beg of you, don't go into labor at the wedding," she faux-pleaded.

Hermione threw her head back to laugh, her arms wrapped around her front to support her middle. "I'll try, but that would be quite a story, wouldn't it?" And with that, she waved and walked across the lawn to join an awaiting Ron. Ava could see him slightly frowning in George's direction before taking Hermione's hand and walking down the rows of chairs to find a seat with her.

"Stupid git," said Fred quietly, shaking his head after Ron. "He should be grateful. You made his face much prettier. Still not over that, is he?"

"Apparently not," George muttered back. Ava had no idea what they were referring to, but she couldn't avoid noticing the waves of tension and even slight hostility radiating off the twins.

"Er'body! Er'body! We're 'bout to begin!" came a booming voice. Everyone turned to see Hagrid, in a rather moldy looking brown suit, walking down the center aisle separating the two sections of chairs. The large crowd began quietly scrambling around, some settling down into chairs and the rest organizing themselves standing comfortably with other guests, facing the stage.

"George, Angelina. Fred. Ava," he muttered gruffly, pausing in his enormous steps to stand beside their seats. "Y'alright?" he phrased it as though he were asking them how they were all doing, but even from his tall stance, they could see his dark eyes were hovering on Fred.

"We're well, thanks Hagrid," Fred offered with a quick smile, but otherwise ignored the half-giant. Ava leaned forward past him and smiled apologetically up at Hagrid, who nodded once and walked up to the stage, standing beside it solemnly as if he was guarding it.

The wind was nearly knocked out of her by Fred's sudden level of irritation spiking. She grimaced as he sighed heavily through his nose, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line.

"I really wish everyone would stop treating me like a bloody porcelain doll today," he said sourly, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

His hand suddenly felt limp in hers, and she was just about to open her mouth to answer when Hagrid called out again.

"Please stand for the Minister of Magic and the Headmistress of Hogwarts!"

The sound of the shuffling of shoes and rustling of fabrics filled the air as everyone got to their feet. And then, with no warning, Fred dropped Ava's hand and shoved both of his into his suit pants pockets.

Kingsley Shacklebolt strode down the center aisle, dark blue and silver robes swirling out behind him. His eyes were trained straight ahead and said nothing as he passed through the huge crowd, polite murmurs of '_hello, Minister'_ and _'good morning, Minister'_ echoing in his wake. Professor McGonagall followed behind him a few seconds later, wearing deep burgundy robes and a matching hat. They walked around to the side of the stage and ascended several small steps. Kingsley reached the top first and politely turned in a half bow, extending his arm and offering it to McGonagall, who took it with a deep nod of gratitude. She remained standing towards the back of the platform, the dark, rippling lake her backdrop, as Kingsley made his way to the front and center. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and held the end against his throat.

"Good morning," he said evenly, but his voice magically boomed outwards as though he were using a Muggle speaker system. He lowered his wand to his side. "You may resume your seats."

Ava smoothed out her plum colored dress behind her and sat, casting another wary glance over to Fred. He stared at Kingsley hard, his hands resting on his legs and balled into tight fists.

"Thank you all for your attendance. Today is the fourth anniversary of the day we call The Battle of Hogwarts. Not only is it the day that a devastating battle was fought—and won—on these very grounds, it is the day that the Second Wizarding War ended. A day of great sacrifice. A day of enormous grief." The Minister spoke regally and majestically, yet his voice somehow maintained an even, calm tone to it that was soothing to listen to. Ava perked her head up just slightly to observe more of the crowd and saw that every last person, even the youngest children, were staring up at him glassy eyed, completely mesmerized and deep with respect.

"As you all know, each year our memorial has had a theme. As I welcome the Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall, to take the stage, I introduce this year's theme: Citadel." With a deep bow amongst soft, polite applause, he backed away to stand in McGonagall's previous position as she gracefully made her way to the front and took out her wand to amplify her voice in the same fashion.

"Citadel?" Ava heard George mutter to Angelina as he joined in on the clapping. "Is Hogwarts being converted into a war fortress or something?"

"Hasn't it always been?" she whispered back.

"Welcome, and good morning," Professor McGonagall began, clasping her hands together in front. "We, collectively, gather today to honor the sixty-six fallen in the Battle of Hogwarts. To most of you, sixty-six is just a number. That is because many of you can only fit so much grief in your hearts—only room enough for one. The one you _truly_ gather here for today. The one that you miss and continue to mourn each and every single minute, of every single day. The one that weighs on your chest heavily, the one that you realize will not be present in your day as you rise out of bed in the morning."

Sobs could already be heard throughout the crowd. Ava couldn't help but think about more than one: Steven, Jason, and Sarah. Her stomach was churning.

"Death is a terrible thing," McGonagall continued. "It has no process, it bears no warning. Even if one has been suffering for a while, whether it be through injury or disease or age, death still manages to come as a surprise to those touched by it. With death, there is no 'halfway there'. There is no descending to the next level. One day, someone is here, and the next, someone is simply not."

Fred made the oddest of sounds then; it was somewhere between a sigh and a moan and a grunt. Ava tentatively reached over with just the tips of her fingers to touch Fred's leg, but he jerked away as though her touch had burned him. As though George could sense something was wrong, he turned his head to look over his shoulder, his face appearing worried again.

_You alright?_ he mouthed to his twin.

_I don't know,_ Fred mouthed back, one shoulder raising and lowering.

"We find ourselves asking so many questions, most of them beginning with 'why'. Why did this have to happen? Why did it have to be my son? My daughter? My friend? Why now? Why couldn't I have saved them? I implore all of you now, all of you heavy hearted people, to not let these questions eat away at your soul. Just as your loved one rests, let yourself rest. Let yourself finally rest. Take care, of not only yourselves, but especially of the ones still with us. The ones who need your 'why's, and your grief, and your heart, now more than ever. Trust in each other. Cling to each other. Bind together, and push forward. Let us not drown in the past, but surge ahead, with newly awakened hearts."

The sparkling glint of Angelina's ring caught the sunlight as George reached over to her lap and picked her hand up again. A sudden throbbing filled Ava's chest as Fred sent wave after wave of despair and hopelessness into the air. The throbbing began to take on a certain rhythm, as though Fred were chanting something.

_I can't, I can't, I can't._

"Let us remind ourselves to never let the sixty-six who have fallen, fall in vain. Continue what they fought so hard for. Continue fighting. Lest we forget their dying wish: justice. Freedom. And defending the defenseless, hoping for the hopeless, and seeking peace for those who have none. Yes...trust in each other, cling to each other, and bind together. Gather behind the fortress. Collect your arms. Build the Citadel."

Even though they weren't very close to McGonagall upon the stage, Ava could suddenly see the details of her features clear as day: her grey eyes had traveled over to Ava, and seemed to pierce straight through her. She suddenly understood that McGonagall's address was riddled with underlying meaning, and she was staring pointedly at Ava through the rest of the crowd for a reason: she was saluting her directly, and promising she and the rest of the Order stood behind her.

"We will now begin the recitation of the names."

The substantial crowd of the Hogwarts students that had been hovering behind the seated guests began silently filing around, towards the stage. They reached it and split into two groups: the ones in green and blue standing to the left of the stage, and the ones in red and yellow on the right. As though they had practiced, they all solemnly pulled out their wands and held them out at arm's length.

A small family, consisting of a man, a woman, and a young adult girl that appeared to be their child, suddenly stood and walked together to the stage. They climbed the platform and made their way to the center, standing beside Professor McGonagall.

"Raymond Alavast, our son," the parents chanted together. As soon as the name left their mouths, their faces crumpled; the man burying his face in his hands and the mother and daughter turning to clutch each other and sob. The Minister came forward, muttering his condolences and shook each one of their hands, and escorted them across the stage to descend the stairs on the opposite side.

"Raymond Alavast," the Hogwarts students chorused, and each of them sent a blindingly white line of sparks from their wands into the sky, where they exploded softly, like muffled fireworks. Everyone jumped in their seats at the sudden noise.

Nine families later, the students had just chanted back "Lavender Brown" when Ava felt a sudden tremor come from Fred. She turned to look at him, and fought the urge to gasp at the sight of his face dripping in sweat as another family called out their child's name.

"Fred," she said as softly as she could manage among the soft blast of the fireworks, "do you want to take a break? Don't worry about making a scene, I'll go with you. Do you need to go take a walk or something?"

"Colin Creevey." The hissing of sparks as they sailed through the air. Boom.

Fred wagged his head back and forth rapidly, all color drained from his face and a droplet of cloudy sweat falling from his chin.

"Are you sure?"

"Kesenia Cubbles." Boom.

He didn't answer this time, just continued staring straight ahead as the calling of the names went onward, and Ava continued drowning beside him.

Twenty-eight minutes later, after "Tony Wright", Kingsley made his way to the front of the stage again to stand beside McGonagall.

"Thank you all again for your attendance today, and may I say a thank-you to each and every one of the fallen sixty-six. You will never be forgotten." Murmurs of agreeing rippled through the crowd as he continued. "You all may stay and mingle, or make your way up to the Great Hall, where refreshments will be provided."

As though someone suddenly turned a volume control to full blast, the buzzing of voices filled the air as everyone rose to their feet and began to talk. The chairs that everyone had been sitting in began vanishing with little popping noises, and guests began to merge and squeeze past one another, off in a search to talk to someone they knew across the lawn. Ava found herself suddenly swallowed by the swell of converging people, and before she knew it, Fred had disappeared from her side.

"So, that speech, eh? What'd you make of it?" a man's voice from behind her came floating through the air in a snippet of passing conversation.

"I reckon she's alluding to something. 'Gather behind the fortress, collect your arms, build the Citadel'? Sounds like there's another war brewing," came another voice in reply, fading fast as the two men walked away.

"Fred?" she called out, spinning around wildly. She felt like an accidentally abandoned child in a public place who'd lost their parent. "Fred? Fred?" she continued saying, her heart pounding and her voice rising in a panic.

Her stomach jumped in anticipation for a moment as she thought she saw him making his way over to her, but quickly realized it was George.

"Ava!" he cried out, all plans for the subtlety of her name forgotten, squeezing himself through the crowd and stumbling in front of her. His eyes were slightly wild and he sounded as though he were panting a bit. "Where's Fred? Is he with you?"

"No, George, I fucking lost him!" Ava moaned, slapping her hand to her forehead. "He's a mess, he looked like a mess the entire ceremony, George, where could he have gone?!"

A look of realization rapidly washed over his face and he whipped his head to the side, staring out at the castle. "Oh God," was all he said.

And then he bolted.

"George!" Ava gasped, and hesitated only a second before taking off after him. "Excuse me, excuse me!" she said in a panic to a small group of witches who had their backs to her. They whirled around and gaped in bewilderment and offense at Ava's rudeness before parting down the middle and allowing her to pass.

"Sorry!" she called out over her shoulder as she ran after George across the upwardly sloping lawn, silently thanking her luck she'd chosen to wear the flat black shoes Ginny had given her instead of the heels.

"Come on, we gotta get him!" he yelled in a strained voice, pausing in front of the enormously tall castle doors and waiting for Ava to catch up.

"Where...did...he...go?" she panted back to him. She ran up to his side and they were off again, making quite the ruckus as they sprinted across the stone floor of the entrance hall, memorial guests clutching drinks crying out in surprise as the pair forcefully pushed past them. Ava was following George's lead, and was powering towards the wide staircase before them, assuming thats where they'd be going, when he suddenly threw his arm out to his side and grasped on to her wrist tightly.

"Hold on, strange bird!" he said, and dragged her around to the side of the staircase.

"Hold on for what-"

But she was cut off suddenly as he made a sharp turn to the left while reaching out with his free hand, pulled away the edge of a banner hanging on the stone side of the staircase, and flung her towards the wall of solid rock behind it.

"WHAT THE HELL-" she screamed out, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of the pain from slamming into the wall. But instead, the sudden sensation of falling took over her body, and her breath caught in her throat in surprise. She forced her eyes open to see nothing but darkness around her, still feeling the grip of George's hand around her wrist and the whistling of wind in her ears.

Then, as quickly as the falling sensation had begun, it was over, and Ava was weightless, stagnantly hovering in the air.

"Three, two, one," she heard George mutter beside her, and right on his cue, gravity once again took over and they slammed belly-first on to a hard ground together with a collective "oomph!"

When Ava opened her eyes, it was dark again, but a single thin sliver of light was piercing through, landing diagonally across George's flustered face beside her.

"Damn, I haven't done that in years," he mused to himself, crawling forward. Through the darkness, Ava could vaguely see him reaching up and grasping something, and as he pulled it aside, the small space she was laying in was flooded with light. She squinted against it as he crawled out before her and reached in to help her out.

"What was that?" she gasped, swinging her legs over an edge of some sort and standing. She looked behind her to see a small, rectangular nook carved into the stone wall, which became covered again as George let the tapestry he held in his hand fall.

He let out a single cough before jabbing his head to the side and taking off in a jog, Ava beside him. "It's what we call a Wormhole Passage," he panted. "Most people think that nook is just an odd little hiding spot, but it's the destination from the dive through the wall behind the stairs."

"Which leads us to where, now?" Ava asked breathlessly. They were running down a wide, dark hallway, with only a few small torches mounted on the wall here and there and a couple small tapestries in between.

"The seventh floor," George replied, and they took a hard left.

Ava had the wind knocked out of her once again as George unexpectedly threw his arm out to the side and caught her around the shoulders. He was panting heavily but standing up straight, staring down the hallway with his eyebrows knitted together in concern. She was about to ask him why they'd stopped when her eyes followed down the same path as his.

About fifty yards down the seemingly never-ending corridor stood Fred, facing the stone wall. His dragon hyde jacket was gone and he simply stood in place, his arms hanging down at his sides limply.

"What is he doing, George?" Ava whispered, clutching his arm.

"This is the place," he replied in a flat tone.

"What place?"

"The place where it happened."

Ava swallowed hard, the taste in her mouth sour and metallic after their long sprint, before looking around rapidly and blinking hard in realization.

"George—is this—is this where-"

"Yes."

They stared down the hall together at Fred, still completely unmoving and calm as he stared at the wall in front of him. The next few seconds were like a needle coming through the air about to pop a bubble; they were frozen in place and gaping at Fred and utterly helpless, but undeniably feeling the tension and anticipation in the air.

George saw it happening first.

"Fred, NO!" he screamed, his voice shrill and echoing down the corridor.

Fred had his left arm pulled all the way back, his hand curled in a fist, his face scrunched together in a mixture of disgust and anger and determination.

"No!" Ava gasped beside George, but it was too late.

With a strangled scream, Fred propelled his fist forward, like a catapult letting loose. Even down the hallway, they could hear the thudding noise it made as it collided with the stone.

George and Ava were suddenly running again. She didn't know who had started running first, but they were flying, making wide strides and waving their arms wildly.

"Stop it, Fred, stop it!" George screamed. Ava could see tears streaming down his panicked face.

But Fred wasn't stopping, he was a tornado, out of control and stumbling in place, both arms whaling upon the stone wall as he screamed wordlessly. His punches weren't those of a toddler throwing a tantrum; they were fully drawn and powerful, and the thudding noises continued as he pounded the bricks. They were getting close enough now to see the scarlet smears of blood painted upon the wall from his knuckles.

Then, a tall, red-headed figure came sprinting towards Fred from the opposite direction down the hall. He was much closer, and got to him first, colliding with him in a tackle of sorts and wrapping his arms around him as he pulled himself and Fred to the floor away from the wall.

"Who the bloody hell is that?" George roared as they approached, slowing down in their sprint. There was a fire blazing in his eyes.

Fred was on his knees completely doubled over, his forehead against the stone ground as he screamed with sobs, his arms wrapped around his ribs. Even in the shadowy light of the corridor, Ava could see how mangled and purple and bloody his hands already were.

The tall man with the red hair was on his knees at Fred's side, his arm draped across his back and leaning his head down to be level with Fred's upon the floor.

"I'm...fucking...broken...Ron!" screamed Fred, banging his forehead on the ground a little.

George and Ava came to a stop, standing only a few feet away from Fred and Ron's crumpled figures. George was silently crying, his jaw open wide and eyes bulging in horror, and Ava's hands were cupping her mouth.

"No you're not. Fred, look at me!" Ron yelled, his voice echoing in the open space of the corridor. He pushed Fred up by his shoulders to sit upright and shook him. "You're not broken. You're not fucking broken! I was wrong!"

"Ron!" George choked out, and flung himself to his knees beside the two of them. For one horrifying second, Ava thought George was going to hit him, but instead he reached forward in front of Fred, grasping Ron by the shoulder. Together, they sobbed, leaning into Fred and holding him tightly. A shock of pain shot through Ava's finger in front of her mouth and she realized she was biting down on it.

Ron grabbed a fistful of Fred's hair at the back of his head as he whispered something to him before rising to his feet. He approached Ava, his face pink and tear-streaked and worn.

"I'm getting someone from the hospital wing to come get him and give him something to calm down," he rasped. He reached out and touched Ava's arm. "Take care of him, will you?" He darted by Ava and took off in a run.

She looked down at the collapsed twins before her, twisted together and crying identical sobs. George was behind Fred, his forearms wrapped around his neck and resting on Fred's collarbones. His chin leaned on Fred's shoulder.

"You're not broken, you're not broken," he whispered into his twin's ear harshly, tears falling from his eyes and dropping on to Fred's shirt.

Ava sunk to her knees and crawled to them, her own eyes filling with hot tears. She leaned forward, resting her hands on Fred's thighs and her forehead up against his in an attempt to steady him as he rocked back and forth. Her tears escaped and splattered upon his knees.

"It's okay," Ava whispered to him. The statement brought back the memory of wind chimes, the texture of a Birch tree beneath her hands, the sunshine of the Vermont woods. It was the same sentiment that Fred had repeated to her over and over again after she'd learned of her parents' deaths.

His forehead shook against hers as he let out another round of sobs, George still holding on to him from behind as he rocked back and forth on his knees, cradling his broken and bloodied hands together. He and Ava had inadvertently made a fortress around Fred, surrounding and wrapping around him, protecting him, holding him together. A Citadel.

"It's okay. It's okay."

And the abandoned well that was grief, still not fully back to the way it was, still a little broken, still a little damaged, was suddenly found again, and the rotten dead things at the bottom were drained away.


	20. Chapter 20--Circus

**Author's Notes: ****Holy crap, guys! Chapter 20 already!**

**Thank you so, SO much to all of my readers, reviewers, faves, and followers. I know everyone says this but I appreciate you more than you know.**

**I'm so sorry for taking a little longer than usual to update, life has been a little hectic. But I worked really hard on this chapter and I'm pleased with how it turned out. I'll try in the future to not let as much time pass between updates.**

**You guys truly are the best! Hope you enjoy Chapter 20-please leave a review! **

**Chapter 20—Circus **

Nearly a month ago, Ava told Fred her favorite color was violet. She said it made her feel safe.

Violet, in her world, was the universe's white flag of surrender; a signal that she had made it through another terrifying night of being hunted by Merryweather's minions. It was the pre-cursor to the sunrise, the color that allowed her to catch her breath, nurse her wounds, and find somewhere to lay down and sleep for a few hours.

Violet was the end of the darkest time, the renewal and rebirth of another chance at peace. And violet was the color of the bruises spread across Fred's hands, the color of his injuries painful, fresh, and swollen, but already on their way to healing.

Fred noticed her looking down at them as they rode along the bumpy path away from Hogwarts, sitting in one of the school carriages and making their way through the inky blackness of the forest. It had been almost twelve hours since the Memorial had ended, and Fred had received the official okay to go home from Madam Pomfrey after having his broken bones mended and napping with a heavy dosage of Draught of Peace. Fred and Ava's carriage was first, followed by George, Angelina, Ron, and Hermione in their own, and the rest of the concerned Weasley clan split off into pairs and small groups in subsequent ones down the road.

"Did you know," Fred suddenly started in a low voice, following Ava's gaze down and staring at his own marred hands, "that I begged the Order to trust me and let me be Head of this mission? For you, Merryweather, all of it?"

Ava didn't raise her eyes just yet; she was momentarily transfixed on his knuckles, covered in soft white bandage with the light, perfect shade of purple blossoming out upon his skin underneath. They reminded her of her own, when he'd dragged her behind him in the forest and washed and wrapped her open and bleeding scabs.

"Beg?" she replied. "Why did you beg?"

"I...I felt like you needed me. And I felt like you trusted me, like you were looking at me as a person and not the delicate damaged thing everyone else saw me as. It made me feel good." After a second he laughed, but it was bitter sounding. He lifted his head but looked away from Ava, staring hard out into the dark woods they slowly passed through. "And now I've given you every reason NOT to trust me," he continued, biting his bottom lip hard for a moment and shaking his head to himself. "Isn't that brilliant?"

It was silent between them after that as the carriage moved along; the only sounds filling the air were the hoots of owls and chirps of insects in the forest. Ava looked up to his face, remembering how only a couple hours earlier she'd been at his bedside, smoothing his red hair off of his forehead as he slept. He'd looked so peaceful, and this time, no nightmares had plagued his dreams.

"Doesn't change anything," she finally said. "I think you've got the wrong impression here. You're under the guise that I'm _stuck _with you, and your issues are a burden or something. But it's not like that, Fred. Never has been. I chose you just the same as you chose me, you know."

She'd piqued his interest; he resolved to turn and look across at her, and their eyes met.

"You chose me," he repeated back to her, his brows furrowed together.

"Yeah, I did."

"How so?"

Ava drummed her fingers on her knee for a few seconds before reaching across the space between their parallel benches of the carriage and resting the back of her hand on Fred's knee, her palm open. "Take it," she said.

He hesitated for only a second before obliging and gingerly placed his hand in hers. She closed her fingers but she was gentle.

"Do you remember when I did this, when you came to see me?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember what I later told you I was doing?"

"You were...reading my intent, you said."

"Right. Fancy wording for feeling you out, seeing if I could trust you. Another one of Merryweather's mind-ripping parting gifts. If I touch someone upon our introduction I just...I don't know, it's hard to explain. I just feel something. If they're trustworthy I can feel the warmth in their hand, if their intentions are cruel I can already feel the knife in my back. It's probably not a foolproof thing but it hasn't failed me yet. And sometimes I feel you, other times I don't and you're numb. Static. But that first time you came to see me in the hospital room...I mean come on Fred, do you really think I completely missed what's going on in there?" She jabbed her chin towards his chest, motioning towards his heart.

He raised an eyebrow and released another salty laugh. "So you knew I was fucked up from the beginning, eh?"

"Actually, yeah, I did," she replied in an even tone. "It's why I chose you. I could tell you were a good person but I also felt this enormous...I don't even know what to call it, a scar, I guess...I felt this scar, right under the surface of your chest. Like there was this horrible wound somewhere under the goofy, cocky facade you were putting off. I felt it and I chose you for it, okay?"

"That is some tremendously awful logic right there," said Fred, sighing wistfully. "You should've latched on to George, he's the normal one. Although I don't think Ang would've appreciated you snogging _him_-"

"Oh for the love of God, Fred, that's not what I was talking about," said Ava, rolling her eyes impatiently.

"I know what you were talking about," Fred interjected softly, the smirk fading from his face. "You chose me to protect you."

"Now that I think about it, I don't know if I ever even had a choice, honestly," she replied. "You came to see me and then you left, and after that there was just this...this thing, in the air, drawing me back to you. It was like a-"

"Magnet," Fred finished for her. He shook his head again in disbelief, smiling slightly. "I said the same thing to my family, you know, embarrassingly enough. It was really the oddest of sensations, I'd just met you but I couldn't help but feel like I'd forgotten something after I left without you."

"Right. And yeah, I came to see you in your dream to ask you to come get me, but you know what? You're right. I could've latched on to George and been his charge after all of that. I really could have. But I didn't. I chose you, Fred."

Fred suddenly felt as though a lump had formed in his throat as he watched her eyes well up with tears, shining and visible even in the dim lighting of the single lantern attached to the edge of the carriage.

"I feel like I have one too," she said, her voice strained. She reached up with her free hand and touched her fingertips to her chest, between her breasts. "There's a scar that's formed after everything I've seen and done and I felt like it was ready to rip at the seams. And then I met you and I felt like I finally met someone who would understand, who'd be patient with me. And you have been, and I've tried to return the favor to you. I didn't want to be magnetized to someone normal, I didn't want George or Harry or Ron or any of the others. I wanted someone whose scar would match mine. I wanted you. From the beginning, scar and all. You." A single tear escaped out of her left eye and rolled down her cheek, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

He reached across and brushed the tear away with his thumb. "You have been making me stronger," he murmured. "And I can't help but wonder why. Not that I'm not happy about it, but why? You'd think two people with issues coming together would kind of just make things worse, right?"

Ava let out a single laugh, opening her eyes and wiping her own face. She let her arm fall and shrugged, smiling a little. "Fred, I know you grew up learning magic and all, but haven't you ever learned anything about science?"

"Science?"

"Yeah. How, in the right predicament, two negatives can come together to form a positive."

She brought her eyes up to be level with his and their pupils made contact; the invisible magnet buzzing between them.

"It's over, you know," he found himself suddenly saying, as though his mouth was forming the words before his brain even decided to do so. "Pushing back against everything and everyone, resenting myself, taking it out on you and everyone else who cares. Today, with the wall...I know it certainly didn't look like it, but I let it all go. I felt like every time I punched I was just pouring out all of the rotten shit that's been inside for so long. I won't sit here and lie to you, I feel like I might still have a part of this wall that I had built up inside my chest still standing, but now...it just feels different. Like maybe the ice melted from in front of it, you know?"

Ava didn't say anything, just maintained their eye contact and gave a small nod.

"I call it that, by the way," Fred said. "A wall. You call yours a scar, but mine's a wall."

"It's appropriate," she said softly, the smallest of smiles upon her lips.

Fred smiled back to her and reached froward with his free hand to take her other, so all of theirs were joined together. They fell into another silence for a couple of minutes, but this time, it was comfortable.

"Why didn't the nurse just fix everything?" Ava suddenly asked. She was staring down at his bruised and bandaged hands again. "I know she mended the broken bones inside your hands but what about the rest?"

"Because," Fred replied, his mind going back to what he'd been told over and over again during his six month stay in St. Mungo's, "you can't just fix everything with magic. You have to let yourself be human and feel the pain a little. Or else your body will forget how to heal itself. It's longer and much harder than any spell or potion, but real healing takes time, you know?"

They both looked up and their eyes met again, Fred's unintentional double entendre sinking in through both of their chests. It was powerful enough to momentarily glue them to their seats, even after the carriage rolled to a stop.

It was a random moment there, sitting in the carriage in the forest and realizing they were more connected than they ever thought before, but Ava's scar was smoothed with the salve of his words, and a single brick came tumbling down from the wall in front of Fred's heart.

* * *

"Are we sure this is a good idea?"

Ava had to practically yell for Ginny to hear her, even though they were standing close enough together for their shoulders to be touching. A sea of people that nearly rivaled the crowd at the Memorial three days earlier surrounded them, everyone excitedly babbling and some even jumping up and down to get a better view of the front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The bright orange shop was adorned with streamers and balloons, and there were some sort of enchanted bubbles hovering in the air above the crowd that would repetitively inflate until bursting, shower the spectators with rainbow colored confetti, and repeat.

Ginny made an odd face, hitching up one side of her mouth, furrowing her brows and shrugging. "Truthfully, Ava, I don't think _we_ had any kind of say in this," she yelled back, leaning in to talk loudly into her ear. "They more or less just told the Order they were going to do it. Everyone had concerns of course, but if there's one thing that's certain about Fred and George, it's that once they have their minds made up about doing something, there's no stopping them."

They were suddenly jostled by a pair of young teenage girls shoving their way through the congested area, fighting their way towards the front. Ava and Ginny yelled apologies to one another as they pitched to the side and clawed each other's arms desperately for balance, hopping in place.

"Idiots," Ginny muttered, frowning after them. Another pop exploded in the air as the bubbles above them burst, but this time, instead of confetti, small gold coins rained upon the crowd. People began screaming excitedly and diving on the ground, rolling on the cobblestone and fighting amongst themselves for the gold. Even the other patrons of Diagon Alley who'd been trying to push past the swollen mob spilling out into the main area of the street slowed down, temptingly eyeing the festivities.

Ginny grabbed on to Ava's hand tightly and began pulling her away, practically dancing through the money-hungry throng to dodge the ridiculous antics people were pulling to get more of the gold.

"This is classic Fred and George," yelled Ginny over her shoulder.

"What, giving away money?"

They finally managed to make their way to the edge of the crowd where it began to thin out, leaning against the edge of a dark blue building and crushing their bodies against it to avoid the frantic witches and wizards.

"It's not real money," Ginny replied, leaning in and grinning mischievously. "It's Leprechaun gold. It'll disappear in a few hours. They just know that not everyone else will realize that. They knew doing something like that would cause a bit of a riot."

"And attract as much attention as possible," said Ava, nodding and realizing where Ginny was going with this.

"Exactly."

They took a moment to observe the madness before them, people who were most likely normally very level-headed now in hysterics and ready to offer fisticuffs to anyone that would challenge them on their mission to collect as many coins as possible. Ginny lightly nudged Ava with her elbow and jutted her chin out before her, staring out in a particular direction. Ava followed her gaze and saw it resting on Vladimir and Charlie, standing calmly in the thick of the crowd and wearing dark, hooded cloaks. Just a few feet away from them was Neville, cloaked as well.

"Do you think it'll work?" Ava asked.

Ginny turned her face to look at her. "Well, you said Gridgeon holds a mean grudge, right?"

"Right."

"And when Fred and George found you and fought him in the alleyway last month, that would've pissed him off, right?"

"Absolutely."

"Then it'll work," said Ginny, nodding enthusiastically. "Attracting a shit-ton of obscene attention is among their strongest talents, as you can observe. If Gridgeon or anyone else from Merryweather has been out here looking for the red-headed twins who fucked their shit up royally, this will ensure they'll know where to find them."

Ava nodded back to her, but there were undeniable butterflies flitting around her abdomen; nervousness and anxiety practically coursing through her veins.

"You're worried about them, aren't you?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah, I am. They're intentionally slapping enormous targets on their backs for ruthless henchmen. If they get hurt, I'll never forgive myself."

"Just be glad it's them and not you," replied Ginny, smirking and raising her eyebrows. "George told me they were originally thinking about asking you to do something crazy to attract some attention. But I guess they realized they don't need you to be the bait after all. After you explained how Gridgeon's mind works they knew they'd done enough to bait him themselves."

"I would've rather just risked myself, honestly," said Ava, biting her lip and shaking her head. "Gridgeon's fucking crazy. They all are. They'll stop at nothing to get what they want."

Ginny shrugged. "They'll be fine. Don't worry."

The balloons above the crowd popped again, and people screamed in excitement for the anticipation of more gold, but moaned collectively in disappointment as confetti rained down again.

"Ginny," said Ava, "you're so...calm. I wish I had your nerves, girl. Why aren't you worried at all?"

Suddenly, the sea of people in the Alley shrieked in delight and began cheering. Ginny, already a couple inches taller than Ava, perched up on her tip-toes and squinted to see what the excitement was about. However, her attempts at a better view were no longer needed as the crowd gracefully parted down the middle, and the front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was revealed: the double doors were flung open, a magenta carpet had been rolled out down the path, and Lee Jordan was on the stoop, decked out in a full clown costume and balancing precariously on a unicycle, arms out at his sides as the single-wheeled contraption wobbled from side to side as he peddled in place.

"Welcome," he called out, his voice magically magnified and booming through the air, "to the first-ever Weasley's Wizard Wheezes street circus! Are you all ready for the new product reveal?"

Chants and cries of '_yes!'_ were returned back to him, and he grinned widely, his white and red clown makeup stretching comically over his face.

"Well then, with no further adieu, I present to you...Dragon Breath and Dragon Bum!"

And with that, he propelled himself forward, peddling hard on his unicycle and hopping over the front stairs and down the magenta carpet. He reached the end and turned around, facing the storefront, and raised his wand.

A group of what seemed like a dozen large fireworks rocketed into the air from their resting place atop the building's roof and exploded, forming an enormous orange, sparkling symbol of three W's. The crowd burst into applause, and then gasped collectively as two figures on broomsticks came flying out of the open second-story windows of the store. Everyone tilted their faces to the heavens to see Fred and George circling, long, fabric flags fashioned to look like scaly tails whipping out from the back of their brooms as they flew, and fake horns nestled in their ginger hair.

They stopped circling and hovered in place, facing one another. Fred, his appearance distinguishable from his twin's by the white bandages wrapped around his hands, shoved his left hand into his jacket pocket and extracted a small glass vial, glinting in the sun, followed by George doing the same. Even from the ground, Ava could see the contents of the tube clear as day: it was some kind of bright orange substance, angry and powerful in appearance, glittering and swirling within the vial. It was as though the twins had managed to bottle fire itself.

They simultaneously uncorked their vials and leaned down low on their brooms, suddenly charging towards one another as the crowd gasped again. At the last second, Fred veered to the right and George, to the left. As they passed one another they outstretched their hands that held the tubes, clinking them together in a cheers, and raised the tubes to their lips, throwing their heads back as they flew to down the contents.

They sharply veered around to face each other again, and Fred leaned down again on his broom and charged his twin. As he neared George, Fred opened his grinning mouth widely, as though he were about to release a yell, puffed his chest and exhaled.

The crowd shrieked and Ava and Ginny stumbled backwards in place in surprise, gasping, as a jet of roaring flames shot out from Fred's mouth. George swung his broom to the left to dodge the flames and tilted forward to take a nosedive towards the ground. Fred followed closely behind, releasing another jet of fire from his mouth that burned the edge of the fake dragon's tail billowing out from the end of George's broom. It left a wispy black trail of smoke behind it as the twins made chase, laughing maniacally together as Fred continued breathing fire.

"So I guess that makes Fred Dragon Breath, huh?" said Ava, leaning in to Ginny. An impressed smile was on her face and she momentarily forgot about the troubles of Merryweather as she laughed while watching the twins, joining in on the applause with the rest of the crowd.

Above them, George propped himself oddly forward on his broom, his elbows resting on the handle and the tops of his feet balancing on the metal footrests. He looked over his shoulder and grinned back at Fred, the horns in his hair and the mischievous look on his face giving him a devilish appearance. He leaned on his elbows further, urging his broom forward faster above the store, and stuck his rear end high in the air.

"Oh no," said Ginny, her mouth dropped open. "Oh no, oh no, no, they wouldn't—"

But Ginny's disbelief came to life as a stream of angry fire was released right from George's behind. Ginny slapped her hand to her forehead as the crowd roared with laughter, people completely doubled over and crying tears of mirth. Ava couldn't help but notice even the somber Vladimir's mouth begrudgingly twitching into a grin.

"Dragon Breath and Dragon Bum," yelled Ginny to Ava over the excited yells and applause of the crowd, shaking her head but matching Ava's amused and impressed facial expression as she watched the twins above. "Great. Mum's going to have a field day."

Lee pedaled in circles around the huge mass of gathered people on his unicycle, cupping his hands around his painted mouth to call out again. "Dragon Breath and Dragon Bum, on sale TODAY, 8 Galleons per vial! All interested patrons please make your way inside in an orderly fashion—I said orderly, you three in the front, or else Fred and George themselves will barbecue you...ha!"

He raised his wand and the bubbles above the crowd popped again, this time releasing squares of chocolate, graham crackers, and fluffy white marshmallows speared on kabobs. "Now who wants a snack?!" he yelled, throwing his head back and cackling maniacally.

Ava and Ginny couldn't help but laugh together as everyone scrambled to retrieve handfuls of s'mores supplies and stuck their speared marshmallows in the air above them. Fred and George dove and flew low, their fabric dragon tails now both smoking and their horns askew on their heads; Fred releasing roars of fire from his mouth and George, from his rear end, toasting the crowd's marshmallows.

"Remember you asked me why I wasn't worried about them, considering how fucking crazy Gridgeon and the rest of Merryweather is?" asked Ginny, popping a square of chocolate into her smiling mouth. "Well...it's because Fred and George are pretty fucking crazy themselves."

Ava threw her head back and laughed just as someone came up beside the girls and touched their shoulders lightly. It was Neville, his forehead lined with worry and his eyes nervous. He gripped his wand tightly at his side, his knuckles white on the handle.

"Neville," said Ginny, the smile fading from her face. "What's wrong?"

"Take Ava and get inside," he said in a low voice, nodding at the both of them and bouncing on his heels.

Ava's stomach dropped unpleasantly as though she had accidentally swallowed ice, and all of the color drained from Ginny's cheeks. She reached down her sleeve and whipped out her wand.

"Do you see something, Neville?" Ginny demanded, her face suddenly appearing hawk-like as her posture straightened and she scanned the crowd aggressively.

Neville shook his head. "No, but Fred and George are about to do something _really_ stupid. Charlie's just told me."

Ginny snorted and rolled her eyes. "Neville, George is spraying fire out of his asshole. What do you mean, they're _about_ to do something really stupid?"

But Neville remained unamused, his eyes still darting around frantically. "Please just go inside," he whispered. "Now."

Ava and Ginny exchanged bewildered looks before reaching out and joining hands, finally heeding Neville's pleas and striding forward, pushing through the excited crowd. The two of them had just reached the open double doors of the shop, when a loud bang and fizzling of sparks filled the air.

The girls spun in place and looked up to the sky to see the firework that Fred and George had just released. Ava let out a small choking sound of disbelief and held her hand over her mouth.

There, smack dab in the middle of the open, blue sky, was the ugliest of symbols, the same as the tattoo branded upon the back of Ava's neck: the bold and black **M** with mirrored **W** beneath it. Another bang reverberated in the air as a second firework exploded beside the Merryweather symbol. This one was in the same shimmering orange font as the twins' signature triple W, but it read something different this time.

_COME AND GET US_

"Oh...my...God," Ava breathed.

The crowd was murmuring in confusion, all asking one another if they knew what it meant, but Fred and George continued about their business as though nothing had happened, flying high and still dueling one another with fire.

Ava and Ginny turned to each other, their faces identical shades of white and their mouths agape.

"What happens now?" Ava whispered, her grip tightening on Ginny's hand.

Ginny returned the squeeze before closing her mouth and visibly gulping, still staring up at the taunting fireworks in the sky. "Now...we wait."

* * *

That night, a very peculiar thing happened.

It was nearing two in the morning, and although Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had been closed to the public for a few hours, the inhabitants of the interior were nowhere close to being finished for the night.

For the Weasley twins, history was repeating itself.

"Didn't we just find ourselves in this _exact_ situation, more or less _exactly_ one month ago?" George complained, his arms out to his sides in disbelief as he observed the disaster before him. The store was outrageously messy; frankly, it looked like a tornado had passed through.

Fred merely moaned in reply, not bothering to open his eyes. He was sitting sprawled across the bright orange staircase, still wearing his dragon horns, his feet resting on Ava's lap.

Mostly everyone had matching energy levels, displaying their exhaustion in full: Charlie and Vladimir sat together on the ground, leaning against the front door. Ginny was curled into a ball on the ground as well, her head resting on a pile of dented Skiving Snackboxes and half asleep, and Neville was standing, but barely, his forearms and forehead resting down on a now-empty display table that was being used for Dragon Breath and Dragon Bum. Lee was laying on his back up on the catwalk of the second floor of the store, his left arm dangling over the edge, his clown makeup faded and streaked with sweat.

Verity, the cashier, was the only lively one in the place. Not only was she wide awake, but she was dancing around and humming loudly as she counted the totals for the day.

"George, did you and Ang schedule your honeymoon yet?" she called, not raising her eyes from the enormous pile of coins before her. "If you did, you might wanna upgrade. There's enough money here to—"

But her high pitched, excited voice was suddenly cut off by the explosive sound of the shattering of glass. Everyone screamed and covered their faces as all of the windows along the front of the store were blown out, showering everyone with shards. She ducked down behind the check-out desk, and Charlie and Vladimir let out strangled yells and dove forward, away from the front door, crawling on their stomachs towards the staircase. Neville fell from his hunched stance, stumbling and landing on his back, and Ginny sat upright, scrambling backwards, unsure what to do.

Ava threw Fred's feet off her lap and the two of them jumped to standing, hanging on to the railing of the staircase. George sprinted forward, his arm outstretched to Ginny.

"Come on, Gin!" he yelled, and pulled his sister to her feet.

Everyone scrambled to gather around the stairs, their spontaneous unofficial meeting spot. They were all breathing heavily, on their feet in defensive stances, everyone but Ava holding out their wands. It was suddenly eerily quiet and still, the floor of the shop glittering with the broken glass.

"Ava," said Fred in a low voice, licking his lips nervously. "Go upstairs to the flat. George, go with her."

"No, I'm not going to run away and hide like a coward—"

"There isn't a discussion to this," Fred interjected hurriedly. "You don't have a wand, you can't fight with magic. You're my charge and I'm Heading this mission, what I say goes. George, take her—"

But for the second time that night, words were interrupted by another attack. This time, the double doors of the storefront were ripped off as though they were caught in a strong wind and the wall that had been supporting them exploded, small bits of wood flying in all directions. Everybody screamed again, ducking down, and found themselves choking in coughing fits, thick clouds of smoke and dust swirling through the air.

"Well, well, well," came a voice, unmistakably British in accent and high pitched with sass and delight, "come and get you, eh? Well here we fucking are."


	21. Chapter 21--Rogue

**Author's notes: Hey everyone. I want to say an especially big thank you for all of the reviews on the last chapter. I think that was the most reviews I've ever gotten for a single update, and that was really awesome to see. I appreciate every single one of you.**

**Do you all like the new cover? It's definitely my final edition, and I think it's the best yet. Thoughts?**

**Finally, I want to take a moment to do a bit of a plug here: when you're finished reading this update, you should totally go check out a story called Blue Men by TheJesusFreak777. It's favorited in my profile. It's a four part short story, covering four years of what could have happened after Fred's canon death to the Weasley family, particularly George and Ron. It is seriously the most POWERFUL thing I have ever read on this site, and so beautifully written. Do her a favor and give it a read and review, it really deserves so much more than it has.**

**I present Chapter 21! Please leave a review, they're so awesome!**

**Chapter 21—Rogue**

At the sound of the voice, Ava could swear that fear itself began coursing through her veins.

It was directly beneath her skin, pumping into her muscles and twisting around her lymph nodes, infecting her blood and growing like a cancer.

But even through the terrifying panic, and through the cloudy aftermath of the explosion, she could make something out for certain: the trapdoor leading to the storage cellar, fitted between the planks of the floor behind the check-out desk, was flung open with a slam. Figures began erupting out of it, appearing as though they were rising out of the floor itself—two, three, four people, all brandishing wands and crying out spells before they'd even finished climbing out of the square hole.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Stupefy!"_

The dusty air was suddenly filled with voices, loudly casting spells and crying out in pain and surprise, and different colored sparks and balls of light began flying every which way. From beside her, Fred's hand came down on her shoulder and applied pressure, forcing her knees to buckle.

"Stop it, what are you—"

But he ignored her and pushed harder, roughly forcing her to the floor into a kneeling position. She flinched and cried out in surprise as something directly above her shattered and pieces of the broken thing came raining down upon her head.

"Fred!" she choked out, her throat constricting into a coughing fit as more dusty debris floated towards her.

Fred said nothing; he only kept his one hand firmly on her shoulder as the other held his wand out. He stepped in front of her, his calves bumping into her head as he rocked back and forth and shifted around a bit as he dueled the intruders.

"Fred, please! It's him!"

She finally recovered from her coughing fit, gasping for breath and opening her eyes just as Fred crouched down to meet her at eye level, Charlie sliding in front of him for cover.

"What?" he panted. He was out of breath and his eyes were squinted, rapidly studying her face with panic.

"It's him," Ava replied, nodding frantically. "It's Gridgeon, he's here."

"Are you sure—argh!" A couple of steps on the staircase rising behind them exploded, showering them with sharp bits of wood.

"I would know that voice anywhere, Fred. I'm sure."

They remained staring at one another for just a moment, suddenly realizing what they were doing—while crouching across from one another they had both reached out, their arms extended and hands gripping the other's shoulders desperately.

Fred's hands squeezed her upper arms even harder for a second before releasing them. He reached down at their feet and brought up with him a thick splinter of wood, tapping it with his wand and muttering something. Before Ava's eyes, it transfigured itself, shaking briefly before turning into a wand with a popping sound.

"I want you to take this," he said gruffly, pulling her arm down and pressing the wand into her hand.

Ava shook her head back and forth rapidly, looking down at the wand, her eyes wide. "Fred, I can't-"

"It's just for show," he interrupted in a hurried voice. "Stand with me and brandish it a bit, copy what I'm saying. You'll stand out if you're the only one without a wand."

She nodded once and forced herself to look up at him, feeling her eyelids pulling open widely in panic, her eyes appearing as round as coins. Over his shoulder, Charlie's back faced them, shielding them. He was holding his wand high and stirring it in the air, creating ribbons of fire that he was sending out periodically.

"It's going to be okay," Fred panted, closing her fingers over the false wand. "Just stay with me and keep this on." He reached out and touched the pink amulet dangling from the chain around her neck.

"I'm scared," she whispered. She yelped as a jet of blue light passed over Fred's head, closely enough to ruffle his red hair as though a breeze had passed through.

He hunched his neck down further. "I know," he whispered back. He suddenly leaned forward, forcefully pressing his lips to hers in a hard kiss. It only lasted a second before he broke away, grabbed her arm again and rose to his feet, pulling her up along with him. She raised her trembling arm in the air, grasping the false wand as she surveyed the scene before her.

The store was a raging war zone. The entire front wall had been blown away from the initial intrusion, and small piles of debris mingled with ruined shop products across the floor. Merryweather's minions clearly stood out from the rest, clothed in stiff, all white uniforms. One of them stood close to where the door had been, a long white cloak billowing out behind him and wielding a wand, which he was pointing up at Charlie, who still stood on the ruined staircase landing as they dueled furiously. Neville was rolling around with one on the ground near the display table he'd been leaning on, their wands forgotten only a few feet away, grunting and wrestling one another, their mouths curled into snarls. George and Ginny stood together taking cover behind the bookshelves towards the back of the shop, pages from various destroyed tomes fluttering through the air as they ducked and dodged curses, sticking their arms out every few seconds to send out some of their own. Vladimir was on the far left, confidently battling two of them at once, alternating between dodging spells, deflecting them, casting them, and yelling what sounded like vulgar phrases in another language.

"Du-te dracului!" he screamed before brandishing his wand like a whip, slicing through the air. Charlie let out a hearty laugh from beside Fred and Ava as the two Vladimir had been dueling suddenly lost their uniforms, their white cargo pants flying through the air, and they screeched in shock and embarrassment for their nakedness. Their vulnerability gave Vladimir the moment he needed to hit them both with Stunning spells, impressively landing right in their eyes, sending them careening across the floor.

"I've never heard that curse before!" Fred yelled to Charlie over the commotion of the battle.

"The spell was non-verbal," Charlie yelled back, reaching out and deflecting another jet of blue light from in front of their faces. "He was actually just telling them to go fuck themselves in Romanian."

The humor of the moment left as quickly as it arrived as Fleur, one of the figures that had sprung out of the storage cellar, was sent flying across the store, a bubble of blinding yellow light encasing her. She slammed on to the wall next to Barry the Boil and slid down in a crumpled heap, previously mounted shelving falling down upon her and her eyes closed in apparent unconsciousness. Her husband Bill, another one of the hidden Order members, sprinted towards her.

"Bill, watch out!" Fred suddenly screamed.

Another Merryweather solider, this one without a cloak, had jumped out from behind a stack of bright purple crates and launched something at Bill. It was a tiny object, no larger than a Snitch.

But Fred's warning came too late as the ball pelted Bill right in the side of the head. He didn't even have time to scream before an odd sound resonated through the air, deep and ringing with vibration, like the twang of a guitar string.

A violent wave suddenly passed through the entire store, the twang ending with an explosive rumble not much unlike a crack of thunder. Everyone was knocked to the ground with a powerful gust of air, and Bill was flung backwards as though he'd been catapulted. He crashed through the little remainder of the front wall of the shop and continued flying until he rolled on the cobblestone ground of Diagon Alley, nearly fifty yards away.

The invisible shockwave impacted Ava as though she'd been slammed with a powerful ocean wave; she found herself careening backwards with the wind knocked out of her. Her ribs ached and her chest cramped as her backside painfully collided with the metal railing of the staircase landing, feeling it break behind her. With nothing to stop her fall, she tumbled off the edge of the landing, her stomach dropping in panic during her free-fall for only a second before crashing on something rather squishy. She bounced off and rolled across the floor a few feet before coming to a stop and opening her eyes, finally taking in gasps of shallow, painful breath. An unconscious Arthur Weasley lay sprawled out on the ground beneath the staircase, a thin line of blood dribbling out the edge of his mouth.

Realizing his inanimate figure was the squishy thing that had broken her fall, she crawled forward on her hands and knees toward him.

"Arthur," she choked out, her lungs still not fully working properly after the shockwave. Her vision blurred, and a single hot tear escaped from her right eye and spilled down her cheek.

She grasped him by the shoulders, shaking him. "Arthur," she repeated, his head flopping from side to side.

"Hey blondie."

Ava whipped her head up and instantly met the eyes of the same Merryweather soldier who'd flung the ball at Bill. He was standing, but crookedly, his one leg missing a chunk of his pants and bloodied, and cradling his left arm in his right. He sneered down at her and reached into a pocket of his white cargo vest.

_Blondie._

It was only then that Ava realized the minuscule weight of the crystal formerly around her neck had disappeared; the necklace masking her true appearance was gone and she was fully exposed.

"No!" she yelled, pushing her palms against the floor and struggling to stand.

"_Stupefy!_" came a voice from behind her. The smallest breeze whooshed by as Fred sprinted past her, his wand held at arm's length.

The jet of red light landed squarely on the soldier's chest, and he slammed on to the floor with a thud, unmoving. Fred whirled around, panting, his eyes wide.

"Did he just call you-"

"Blondie," Ava finished for him, accepting his outstretched hand and getting to her feet. "The necklace is gone, it must've came off when I fell off the stairs-"

"Fred!"

George and Ginny came running up beside them, a large chunk of the ends of Ginny's hair singed off and George, sporting a nasty looking gash across one of his eyebrows.

"Dad!" Ginny gasped, collapsing to the floor next to her father.

"Where's Gridgeon, have you seen him?" Fred asked his twin breathlessly.

George shook his head, his face screwed up in a grimacing mixture of pain and confusion. "Gridgeon? He's here?"

"Yeah, Ava said it was his voice at the beginning..."

The twins' conversation suddenly became muffled, as though someone was holding their hands over Ava's ears.

_Take me._

The words rang out as clear as day to Ava, but they sounded as though they were coming from a different place, somewhere other than the chaotic scene in front of her. It was like she was holding a phone to her ear and someone was directly speaking to her through it.

_Take me._

"I've figured it out, see, the ones wearing the cloaks are the magical ones and the ones wearing the vests are the Muggles using the little bombs, like Gridgeon used on Ava..." Fred's voice and the surrounding yells, bangs, and crashes filled the air again at full volume.

"Did either of you just hear that?" she hurriedly asked, looking back and forth between them. Above them on the staircase, Charlie got to his feet and jumped off the steps, flinging himself forward with a wordless battle cry of sorts. They heard a thud and some cursing as he apparently collided with someone on the ground and wrestled them.

"Hear what?" the twins asked in unison, looking at her with identical muddled expressions.

_Take me. TAKE ME._

"That!" she exclaimed, looking around her. But the spot behind the staircase was mostly concealed by stacks of crates and bathed in shadow; the action of the battle was happening at the forefront of the store.

Before either of them had a chance to reply, the undeniable crack of a gunshot exploded through the store. For a moment, everything went silent and still; Fred, George, and Ava gaping at one another and Ginny looking over her shoulder at them from the ground with the same shocked expression.

The four of them reacted at once; Ginny stumbling to her feet and joining the twins and Ava as the sprinted around the side of the staircase to see where the noise had come from. The floor was littered with the unconscious bodies of Merryweather soldiers, and near the front of the destroyed store, formerly where the front door had been, was seemingly the last one standing. He stood with his white-booted feet shoulder-length apart, in a proper firing pose, his arms outstretched before him and his hands cupped around a white pistol. He was cornered; Neville, Vladimir, and Charlie all stood around him in a triangular formation, their wands pointed to him.

But all four of them were looking at the same spot: across the store, standing in front of the destroyed bookshelves with a pained but dreamy look on her face, was Luna, the last of the hidden Order members who'd sprang out from the cellar. Her chin slowly sunk as she looked down to her chest; bright red blood blossoming out through her blouse from a spot right beside her shoulder.

"LUNA!" Neville screamed, breaking the bewildered silence, letting his wand clatter to the floor and running to her just as she sunk to her knees.

"WHAT THE HELL-" George roared, but was interrupted by Ginny.

"A gun? Are you kidding me?! Get that thing out of here!" she exclaimed, her hands balled into fists at her side, stomping towards the soldier. George caught her around the waist.

_If you can do what they say you can...if you can hear me...take me._

"Fred...he wants to be captured," Ava whispered. The soldier had been oddly looking at Luna with a concerned expression on his face before turning to Ava, his eyes locking on hers, right before the voice echoed in her head again.

"Come again?" Fred whispered back as Ginny struggled with George in front of them, her face contorted in anger and screaming profanities at the soldier. Charlie and Vladimir were arguing, Charlie in English and Vladimir in Romanian, over what to do with him, their wands still trained at his head.

"Take him as a prisoner," Ava said quickly, nodding. "Take him. I'll explain later. Just trust me."

Fred nodded back at her and took a step forward, addressing the small group. "Charlie, Vlad...bind his hands and ankles. We're taking him."

The white-uniformed clad soldier separated his hands from the pistol slowly and dropped it, its heaviness banging on the wooden floor.

"I've got to go, I'm taking her to a Disapparating spot so we can get to St. Mungo's!" Neville exclaimed, rising to his feet with Luna lounged bridal-style in his arms, her platinum blonde head leaning against his chest, her blood already smeared on his clothes.

Fred nodded feverishly. "Go, Neville," he encouraged him.

"I'm going with them, and I'm taking Bill" Ginny declared, and George finally released her. She shot the soldier one last filthy look before she jumped out of the front of the destroyed building and jogged to catch up to Neville, who was already determinedly making his way down the darkened cobblestone street of Diagon Alley, pausing to crouch next to the still-unconscious Bill.

"On your knees," Vladimir growled to the soldier, and lifted his leg to kick him in the back. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain but submissively floated his hands to rest on the back of his head, and lowered himself to his knees.

"Ending the party so soon?"

That voice. Fear itself.

Ice, shooting right through Ava's veins. Spreading through her, like a cancer.

Fred, George, Ava, and Ginny whirled around to look for the source of the voice. It was the same as the one that had tauntingly announced Merryweather's arrival, right after the initial explosion of the wall.

Ava had been right. It was him. He was here.

Gridgeon was standing behind the check-out desk, beside the register at Verity's normal spot. He had rightfully earned the nickname 'Rat-Man' from Fred and George; he was a small man, and his pointed face, covered in prickly looking dark stubble like the last time, was managing an expression one could only describe as a hateful smirk. He was the only one not wearing the white Merryweather uniform; a filthy looking black t-shirt hung limply across his chest, topped off with the same brown coat that looked like it was originally made for someone much taller than him that he'd worn the first time the twins faced him. In his left hand, he casually twirled a wand between his fingers like a baton. His right arm held some sort of tension, but hung down at his side, hidden behind the desk.

"Hello, gorgeous," he jeered, staring straight at Ava, his dark eyes sunken into their sockets like two black beetles. His smirk turned into a wide grin, and he cocked his head to one side. "Miss me?"

"Shut up and admit defeat, you slimy little bastard," said Fred. He stepped in front of Ava protectively and raised his wand at Gridgeon. "You're outnumbered. You're coming with us."

"Am I?" Gridgeon replied in a sing-song voice, his head tilting from side to side as though he was considering something. Ava's eyes were trained on his mouth, the teeth showing through his maniacal grin: they were stained red.

"And drop the wand," George commanded, taking a stance directly beside Fred, nearly completely shielding Ava from view. "You have no right to wield it. We know all about you, you disgusting, blood-sucking Squib. Whose is it this time, anyway?"

"Have you been a big tough man and murdered another little girl?" Fred continued.

The moment the slur escaped George's mouth, something flashed in Gridgeon's eyes. Ava swore it was pain, humiliation really, but it was gone rapidly and once again replaced with the sarcastic, cruel glare.

"Well there hasn't been a murder...yet. Me and this lovely lady have been spending some time together behind the desk, and would you believe, she was kind enough to graciously offer me her wand!" His right arm that had been tight with tension suddenly curled upward, and the first thing to appear from behind the desk was his fist, grasping a handful of black hair. He lifted further and the dazed face of Verity appeared next, her eyes rolling in the back of her head and her body limp. She was moaning softly, and a bloody wound leaked from the side of her neck.

Both Fred and George stumbled in place in surprise, and Ava suddenly felt an enormous pressure on her bladder, sharp and urgent. Fuck Gridgeon. Fuck him. He was not going to make her piss her pants in fear.

"Let her go!" Fred growled, taking a step forward. George moved along with him, and Charlie and Vladimir exchanged uncertain glances, not sure whether to help the twins or keep the soldier on his knees.

"Ah—wait just a moment, boys," Gridgeon replied, twirling the wand with a final flourish and landing the tip on Verity's temple. Fred and George froze in place. "Change in plans. I'm going to walk out of here, right through the front...hole," he said, glancing at the ragged space that had been blasted away, lacking a door, "and you're going to let me. Or else this bitch fries."

"No way," George replied back instantly.

"Yes way," Gridgeon countered, his grin now so joyous it almost looked as though he were fighting back laughter. "And you're going to let me take the lovely Ava home as well. You know...as a party favor."

At the word 'home', the icy fear writhing inside Ava melted, replaced by a bubbling, boiling anger. Home, the place she'd grown up in Vermont. Home, the place she was safe with her parents. Home, the place her mother died, wasting away of cancer and the place her father died, drowning in his sorrow. The place she would never go again. The family she would never see again.

Fuck Gridgeon. Fuck him.

"Fuck you!" she found herself screaming, her voice so loud and shrill it hurt her own ears. She wasn't even in control of her own legs anymore; she found herself striding around the twins and standing beside Fred.

"No, no, no, fuck _you_," Gridgeon replied, the grin disappearing from his face and replaced by a hard stare. "You've ruined everything. And you've nearly ruined me."

She was seeing red. Red, the color of Sarah's blood all over Ava's arms and all over the floor after she gave birth to Gridgeon's son, the product of his brutality.

Her blood was boiling. She couldn't think straight. Her blood was boiling.

"There is nothing to ruin! There is nothing! Because you...you...are...nothing!" Ava screamed back, stomping her foot childishly. The floor shook a little, and Verity moaned again, lolling her head to the other side.

"Someone wrangle this tantrum-throwing imbecile," said Gridgeon, rolling his eyes as though he were bored. "Really Ava, are you trying to get _another _one of your friends killed?"

"You've got about one second before I run out of patience and just use the Killing Curse on you," Fred said in a low voice, keeping his wand raised with one arm but reaching out to his side and pushing Ava backwards with his other.

"And you've got about one second before I just use the Killing Curse on _her_," he jabbed Verity's temple with the wand again. "So it looks like we've got ourselves at a stalemate."

There was a long moment of silence that hung in the air, before the voice of a nearly forgotten friend broke through.

"Hey, ugly."

Everyone tilted their heads back to see Lee, still in his striped clown costume and vivid makeup, leaning over the edge of the railing on the catwalk. He was directly above Gridgeon, and his one hand grasped the railing, while the other held a tiny glass vial swirling with angry orange fluid inside.

With one swift movement as everyone watched in bewilderment, he brought the vial of Dragon Breath to his lips, downed it, and leaned over the railing further.

"Aaahhhhh!" he said loudly, as though he were letting a dentist study the inside of his mouth. He opened his jaw wide, and a jet of flames, so hot Ava could feel it from her stance across the room, exploded from his mouth, licking at the top of Gridgeon's head.

"Aarrgghhhh!" Gridgeon screamed, and in his moment of panic and surprise, released Verity, who fell to the floor with a thud. His arms flailed as he screamed incoherently and patted at his head frantically as the smell of burning hair filled the air.

Fred and George didn't pause to react; Fred reached out and grabbed on to Ava's hand and the three of them ran forward, heading to the desk, their hate for Gridgeon momentarily forgotten as the injured Verity became their first priority.

"_Portus!_" Gridgeon yelled, his head still smoking, aiming Verity's stolen wand at a fallen display table and turning it into a Portkey.

Fred whirled around in a panic as George crouched next to Verity. "Vlad, get him!" he screamed.

"_Stupefy_!" Vladimir cried out in his thick accent, but his wand had already been trained on the still-kneeling soldier, and he was just a second too slow in turning it on Gridgeon, who slid on his stomach towards the table with his fingertips outstretched. The red jet of light exploded in the exact place he promptly disappeared from.

"Shit!" Fred yelled, releasing Ava's hand and banging his fist down on the check-out desk. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Vladimir was standing frozen in place, blinking slowly with a dazed look on his face. "I missed," he said softly, his voice full of disbelief. "I can't believe it. I missed."

"You didn't miss," said Charlie, "he just beat you, is all-"

"I missed," Vladimir repeated, still dumbfounded.

The inhabitants of the room stayed in an awkward silence for a few moments before the kneeling soldier made a noise to clear his throat.

"Um...do I have to stay...like this?" he asked, looking up, his eyes shifting from Vladimir to Charlie to the twins.

"Oh shut the hell up," Fred snapped. He leaned both of his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands.

"Yeah, I'm okay," came Verity's soft voice from behind the desk where George kneeled beside her, talking to her in a soothing voice.

Lee began descending the stairs, lifting his feet high in the air to avoid tripping over his comically large red clown shoes. "Mr. Weasley!" he exclaimed, freezing in place and staring at the far side of the shop.

Everyone turned to see Arthur limping towards the group, a purple bruise already beginning to form around his chin and mouth, Fleur at his side. Her arm was draped around his shoulders and he held on to her wrist.

"Where eez Beel?" she gasped hoarsely, squeezing her eyes shut in pain as she walked. "Where eez my 'usband?"

Ava rushed forward, pulling Fleur's other arm around her shoulders and helping support her as she looked up at Arthur, mouthing the word _'sorry'_ for momentarily forgetting about both of them while they'd been caught up in the chaos of Gridgeon. He gave a small smile and waved his hand to the side dismissively.

"He's been taken to St. Mungo's, where you all need to be heading right now anyway," said Charlie. "Verity, Fleur, Dad...you're not looking so good."

"Thanks son," Arthur gasped, coming to a stop beside the desk.

"Hey," George said suddenly, rising to his feet and supporting Verity beside him, "Where's Harry and Ron?"

"They weren't here tonight," Ava said, shaking her head, hoisting Fleur's arm on a more comfortable position.

"Yes, exactly," Fred said, his head rising from his palms. "They were supposed to be here, in the cellar with you two and Luna," he said, coming up beside his father and nodding at him and Fleur. He pulled Arthur's arm around his shoulders. "You alright, Dad?" he muttered. His father nodded at him.

Right on cue, a sharp crack resounded through the destroyed store as a snowy-white owl appeared, flapping its' wings to hover in place beside Charlie. Everyone, including the soldier still kneeling in submission jumped in place at the sudden noise.

"It's an emergency St. Mungo's owl," George observed aloud.

Charlie nodded and reached out to grasp the envelope held tightly between the owl's talons, made of parchment and stamped with the St. Mungo's emblem on the front. He tore it open hurriedly as the rest of the room watched him in anticipation, flinching again as the owl disappeared with another crack.

To everyones' surprise, a grin suddenly broke out across Charlie's sweaty, dust-streaked face. "Well, well, well," he muttered to himself, chuckling and shaking his head.

"I know this is hard to believe, coming from me, but what in the world could possibly be funny right now?" Fred asked in a strained voice, his knees buckling slightly under his father's weight.

Charlie let the hand grasping the note fall to his side as he chuckled again. "I know where Harry and Ron are, and Hermione, for that matter."

A moment of silence hung in the air. "Well, spit it out, you git!" George sputtered.

Charlie continued grinning and tilted his head towards the wall-less front of the store. "Let's get out of here and head to the hospital. Fred, George...we've got a new niece to meet. Dad, you're a Grandfather again. Hermione's had her baby."

* * *

"They're so...weird."

Fred was staring down at the tiny baby in his arms, swaddled in a pale pink blanket with a soft tuft of red hair already on her head. He and Ava sat together on the cushioned window seat of Hermione and Ron's room, their heads tilted together as they gazed at the sleeping infant.

"Weird?" Ava asked back softly, smiling and raising her eyebrows. She looked up through the top of her lashes and met Fred's eyes, which were crinkled with a grin.

"Yeah, I mean...they're weird," he repeated, looking down at his niece again. She was resting in the crook of his right arm, and he reached around with his left, stroking her small, peachy cheek with the back of his index finger affectionately. "They're people. Regular people, human beings, like you and me. But they grow inside of someone, and then they're here, and they're so...little. It's weird." He glanced up again to meet Ava's amused eyes, and they burst into a fit of soft giggles together.

"Fred, are you sure you didn't hit your head back there?" she asked, reaching up behind him and touching his hair.

He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut and slightly frowning. "Ah. Back there. Don't remind me of that shit show, please."

Ava's face softened, and she let her fingers linger on the back of his head. "It wasn't a shit show. Everyone in the Order is safe, none are too badly injured, we've got ourselves a prisoner, and Kingsley and the Aurors took the rest of the unconscious goons into custody."

"Right, but we didn't get the _one _goon we really wanted," Fred replied, shaking his head.

"We'll get him," Ava whispered, squeezing the back of his neck gently.

He looked down to the baby again, his gaze unmoving from her sleeping face. "Weird," he murmured again, smiling down at the infant.

"Very," Ava murmured back, smiling.

Fred turned to her. "You want to hold her?"

"Oh, Fred...I don't know if that's a good idea...if Hermione and Ron want their baby passed around like a party favor..."

"They're ecstatic," he said simply, looking across the room. Hermione sat upright in bed, her hair in a bun atop her head, beaming at Fred and Ava with a smile curving her lips. Ron stood beside her bed, his one hand resting on her shoulder, his other pumping the hands of a seemingly never-ending parade of people coming in to congratulate them.

Without waiting for her to answer, Fred gently passed the baby over into Ava's arms. Her warm weight found the perfect spot in the crook of her elbow.

"Here, give her your finger to hold on to, like this," Fred whispered, reaching across. He tickled her impossibly small hand with his own and she flexed minutely. He slid his pinky into her palm and Ava watched in astonishment as the baby closed her fist around it.

"When the first baby of the family arrived...it was Bill and Fleur's daughter, Victoire...me and George couldn't stop doing this. We got such a kick out of it. It's amazing, you know?" he grinned down at his niece, wiggling his finger in her little grasp.

"You like babies, don't you?" Ava asked, smiling at him. He looked over at her again and grinned sheepishly.

"I do, yeah. They're so innocent, and all they want to do is be happy. They cry an awful lot, but it's because things aren't perfect...a wet diaper, a hungry belly, a restless sleep...they just want things to be perfect, all the time. It's refreshing to be around something that's so easy to please, so easy to make smile and laugh. It's like they're so demanding, yet have no demands at all, at the same time...does that make sense?"

Ava couldn't quite describe the sensation she was feeling in her chest. It felt as though her heart was sinking down into her abdomen yet simultaneously fluttering up and out of her sternum.

"Ava?"

"Yeah," she whispered back finally, nodding once. Her eyes filled and blurred with tears as she looked down at the baby in her arms.

"Hey...hey, what's wrong?" Fred asked, his face falling in concern. When Ava didn't answer right away, he raised a single eyebrow and leaned in close. "I told you, I know the signs of crying...do you have a wet diaper? Hungry belly?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, begrudgingly grinning and laughing. When she opened them, Fred was grinning back, but his eyes were still worried.

"Thank you for making me laugh," she said, wiping her face with the back of her free hand. "I know I'm being morose, but I guess looking at her...I can't help but think about Sarah's baby, you know?"

He bit his bottom lip and nodded, waiting for her to say more. She sighed.

"I think it's safe to say Sarah wasn't looking to become a mother while we were trapped there, I mean, Gridgeon had been proclaiming his love for her and forcing himself on her, the whole thing was disgusting...but when it did happen...when Sarah knew she was getting close to it being time...she wanted that baby. She wanted her son."

"Why?"

"Because it was the only thing that was truly hers," Ava replied softly. Her grey-green eyes met Fred's brown ones. "We had...everything, stolen from us there. Our lives...our futures...our sanity. It all belonged to Merryweather. We were at their mercy. But Sarah's baby was _hers,_ you know? She grew him inside of her, felt him move, gave birth to him, gave her life for him...he was hers. And then she was gone, and then he was taken away...and who knows where that baby is now."

Their eyes were unmoving, remaining connected as Fred replied. "That was the last baby you held before this one, wasn't it?"

Ava sighed again and nodded, looking down at baby Rose. "I want him back, Fred. I want that baby safe. For Sarah...for her parents! To have a piece of their daughter back..." she trailed off, and felt Fred's hand rest upon the back of her head.

"We'll get him," he whispered

* * *

"I told you...he wanted to be taken. He wasn't just thinking it, he was feeling it, with every ounce of his body...it was clear as day..._take me_."

Ava shifted her feet uncomfortably and folded her arms across her chest. The small audience before her—Vladimir, Harry, Fred, George, and Ginny—were all staring at her like she had three heads.

"Maybe I was wrong," she muttered, her face feeling hot. A kettle dangling above the crackling fireplace of the Treehouse began to whistle and they all jumped, George whipping out his wand and pointing at it over his shoulder. The kettle quieted, levitated off of its' hook and began pouring itself into a cup resting on the closest long wooden table.

"I don't see why we have to make him bloody tea," he muttered gruffly, turning on his heel and fetching the steaming mug.

"He is not talking," said Vladimir quietly. "I try nice talk, I try mean talk, I try torture. The prisoner does not talk."

It was nearly a full twenty-four hours since the battle inside the shop, and after everyone had visited the hospital, they'd decided to stick together and head to the Burrow for some food and rest. But apparently, food and rest meant nothing to the determined Vladimir—he'd been awake this entire time, questioning—or attempting to question, rather—the soldier who Ava had heard begging for imprisonment.

"So, are we adding Veritaserum to our little tea party?" George asked.

It was Ginny who shook her head. "No, George. We're just being nice."

"Nice?!" Fred hissed. "He's a Merryweather. He shot Luna. Screw being nice!"

George nodded enthusiastically beside him, but Ginny rolled her eyes. "Calm down, Dragon Ass."

"Dragon Bum, and that's George," Fred corrected his sister, his cheeks growing pink nonetheless.

"Whatever. Point is, if you want someone to trust you, you feed them."

"Like a dog?" Harry asked, his eyebrows raised.

Ginny nodded back. "Actually, yeah. Food is bonding. We come together while eating, it's a fact."

"I'm not cooking him a fucking Christmas goose, Ginny!" Fred hissed, jabbing his index finger in the air.

She slapped his finger down and rolled her eyes again. "Tea will do. Okay, ready?"

"You all go," said Vladimir, nodding gravely. They all turned to look at him, and took notice of the dark purple rings around his eyes. "I need to rest."

"Yeah, of course mate, you go on ahead," George encouraged, nodding.

Vladimir strode over to the fireplace, throwing a handful of Floo powder into the flames but pausing to look at them before he stepped in. "If he still does not talk...wait for me. I can be...persuasive." And with that, he disappeared under the mantle.

Fred was looking after him, open mouthed. "Remind me to never get on his bad side," he whispered, blinking slowly.

"Come on," Ginny said, and lead the way up the twisting spiral staircase. When the five of them reached the top, she paused for a moment before nodding to herself and stepping into the third level.

The others followed suit, filing in quietly. The enormous white bed that Fred had summoned for Ava was gone, replaced by nothing but a chair in the center of the room, where the soldier sat, his hands bound and his ankles tied to the legs. The fading evening sunlight was streaming in through the screen windows, and Ava finally took notice of his appearance without the chaos of the battle to distract her. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, no older than the twins. His skin was a natural tanned color, as though he spent a lot of time in the sun, and he was in shape, his shoulder and chest muscles straining against his white t-shirt. His jawline was thick and straight and his hair was closely cropped to his head and light golden brown in color. He stared straight ahead, his hazel eyes looking out at the doorway but focusing on nothing in particular.

"Hi," Ginny said gently. His eyes traveled over to her, looking her body up and down slowly, but he said nothing.

Ginny exchanged glances with the group before trying again. "What's your name?"

At first, it seemed like the soldier had no intention of answering. He just sat there in silence, and Ava could feel Fred growing more and more impatient beside her, fidgeting in place.

Then, he finally licked his lips, looked up at Ginny again, and opened his mouth. "I'm thirsty."

Ava felt her head cocking to one side as his voice piqued her interest. Although he was attempting to sound hard, his voice was warm, and had a pleasant twang to it, which she recognized as American Southern.

Ginny looked over to George and nodded enthusiastically. George couldn't help himself; he rolled his eyes before taking a single, wide step forward and offering him the mug of tea.

"Here," he said shortly.

The soldier looked up at George, expressionless for a second, before hitching one side of his mouth up in a smirk. "And just how do you expect me to drink that with my hands tied?" he asked.

George's jaw visibly dropped and he whirled around, the tea sloshing from side to side in the cup. "Nope, not feeding him," he said, striding forward and pressing the cup into Ginny's palm instead. "I'm done."

The soldier laughed to himself lightly as Ginny took a step forward, and bent at the knees in front of him.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" Fred muttered, matching an identical stance as his twin and staring at the man sourly, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Ava shifted her eyes to the side and met her gaze with Harry's, who was doing his best to stifle laughter.

He kept his eyes trained on Fred, staring at him over the brim of the cup as Ginny tilted the tea into his mouth.

"Hey Fred, I think he's into you," Ava whispered, elbowing Fred in his ribs.

"Oh, please," he whispered back, still staring straight ahead at him, but a smile twitched around his lips.

Ginny took away the cup and took a step back. "There. Is that better?"

The soldier puffed out his cheeks, swishing a mouthful of the tea around, and turned his head to the side, spitting it all over the floor. "Yeah. That's better."

They all stared in shock for a few moments before Fred made a scoffing sound. "You're a rude, cocky prat, you know that?"

He smirked again. "Yeah, and baiting Merryweather with fireworks and telling them to come and get you _isn't _cocky?"

It was silent again until he turned his attention back to Ginny, looking at her up and down again. "You single, sweetheart?"

"Is this git for real?!" George demanded out loud, holding his arms out at his sides. Ava and Harry exchanged looks again, and Harry finally exploded into his best attempt at muffled guffaws.

"What—no! No, I am not single!" Ginny replied hotly, taking a step backwards and grabbing Harry's hand.

The soldier shrugged and instead turned to Ava, cocking his head to one side and squinting at her with a devilish smile on his lips. "And you?"

"I AM GOING TO END YOU!" Fred roared, reaching up his sleeve and whipping out his wand.

He remained unaffected, sighing as though he were slightly bored with the whole situation. "Oh I don't mean to trample on anyone's territory. It's just that I've been mighty lonely for a few years and haven't been fed tea by pretty girls...well, ever."

Fred looked over to his side to see Ava, who was suddenly staring at the soldier with the oddest of expressions on her face, like she was confused but contemplating some sort of idea.

"Why are you looking at him like that?" he asked her.

Ava didn't reply; instead, she took a step forward, and another one, until she was so close to the soldier her shins were nearly touching his knees. She bent down like Ginny had.

"You're a Jarhead, aren't you?" she asked softly.

The hardness and sarcasm seemingly melted right off his face then; his mouth went just slightly agape and his brows came together.

"I am," he replied simply.

Ava gave him a small nod. "I could tell." She straightened up and backed away, taking her original spot beside Fred. Everyone was gaping at her.

"What was that you called him?" George asked.

Ava looked over to the soldier again. He was watching her now. "He's a United States Marine,"she explained. "Nicknamed Jarheads by fellow Marines and family members. My dad was one, for over twenty years."

"How could you tell he was one?" asked Ginny in bewilderment.

Ava shrugged. "I dunno, I guess growing up with one as a father kind of gave me the eyes for it, you know? His haircut gives it away sure, but..." she trailed off, looking back towards the Marine, choosing to address him directly. "You just had the look in your eyes."

He laughed, but it was bitter. "Well then, teach me how to get 'the look' out of my eyes, because I am out. Done. I did not sign up for this shit."

"Merryweather?" Ava pressed.

He nodded. "I wanted to be amazing, I wanted to have a life. God, I love Texas, but I did not want to live and die there! I wanted to travel the world, save lives, serve my country. Not this shit."

"Which is what, exactly?"

He stared at her hard. "I don't even know what the hell to call it anymore."

Fred scoffed again. "Stop playing the victim. You shot our friend."

"Yeah. I did. Is she alright?"

"As if you care!" George exclaimed.

"She's alright," Ginny said softly. The twins shot her identical dirty looks.

"And is that why you wanted to be taken by us? To get out?" Ava asked.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, a hard look in his eyes. "That's right," he finally replied.

"He's lying!"

The outburst had come from Harry. Everyone turned to look at him in equal incredulity, as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"There's just...well, there's more to the story than what he's saying," Harry said, shrugging. "I haven't learned nothing from interrogating people at the Auror office the past four years."

They all considered what he said for a moment before turning back to the soldier.

"Is that true?" Ava asked him.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek again, wagging his head back and forth, an arrogant look on his face. "Maybe. Maybe not. Bottom line is, I want out. And I want them to go down."

"Merryweather?"

"Yup. You heard me. I want to take them down. So if that's what this whole..." he trailed off, staring at Fred's exposed wand in disgust and all around him at the tiny room of the Treehouse, "thing, is about...then I want in with you. I want to be there when they fall."

The silence after his proclamation was broken by Ginny clasping her hands together. "Good. Good! Excellent. Glad to have you on our side...what did you say your name was, again?"

He lifted his chin, his face hard again. "My name is Dakota Murray."

"Right. Well Dakota, we are ecstatic to have you here...all of us," she said pointedly, staring down the twins.

Fred's lips twitched as though he was doing his best to keep his voice inside of his mouth, and George raised a single eyebrow high into his hairline.

"Yes, yes, he's great," he said sarcastically. "Are we done now?"

"Hey!" Dakota exclaimed, "You can't just leave me tied here like this! And why do I have to tell y'all everything but y'all haven't disclosed anything to me? What about Merryweather?"

"We'll be back soon and talk more," Ginny promised him. His mouth was a thin, hard line, but he nodded once.

"I'll stay for a minute and uh...untie him...Transfigure this chair into a cot..." Harry muttered vaguely, running his fingers through his messy black hair.

"Sounds good," Fred said, and looked over to Ava. "We're going," he said shortly, and grabbed her hand, leading her to the doorway and down the spiral staircase impatiently, George and Ginny following behind.

Ava couldn't help but giggle with Ginny when they reached the bottom.

"What's so funny?" Fred demanded, the hint of a fie still burning in his eyes.

Ava stifled more laughter. "Nothing, it's just...well...you're a jealous one, aren't you? 'I'm going to end you'? That was kind of amazing, Fred."

Fred tried to keep a straight face, but joined in on the laughter as well for a bit before sighing, shaking his head and turning to his sister. "You're not actually trusting him this much off the bat, are you?" he asked her seriously.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. "Absolutely not. He's gone rogue for his own fellowship. Who knows what he's capable of."

The twins nodded back with her, but Ava stayed silent, contemplating the whole situation. While none of them knew for certain what his whole story was, and while none of them may be overly fond of him, one thing was for certain: if Dakota Murray had indeed gone rogue, he would be a valuable addition.

Because, in Ava's mind, rogue or not, anyone looking to take down Merryweather was an ally in her book.


	22. Chapter 22--Raindrops

**Author's notes: ****Hey everyone. So, whose heard about the new Independence Day movie coming out (as if it really needed a fucking sequel)? It's titled "Resurgence". Such a strong name for a story. Totally standing behind it.**

**I wanted to make a quick remark about this chapter-I know we've been in the midst of a lot of exciting Merryweather build up, and I know you all are eager to see what happens next. But along with being a mystery/thriller, this story has also always been about family and the emotions behind it all. Just like in 'Taken' and 'Citadel', I wanted to put the main Merryweather storyline on the backburner for a minute to explore some other goings-on between the Weasleys and what's in their hearts. I'll be back to the Merryweather stuff next update. I really hope this is okay with you guys, and I hope you like this chapter.**

**Please leave a review, you know how much I love hearing from you! Thanks for reading!**

**Chapter 22-Raindrops**

Fred and George were brought into this world together on April 1st, 1978, amongst the worst rainstorm of that Spring season. Thunder shook the sky and the gardens of the hospital flooded as the two of them unapologetically arrived, kicking down the door of April and barging in like they owned the place, all red hair and curled fists and screaming.

"They're going to be handfuls, aren't they?" Molly had sighed, a sleeping, pink-faced twin in the crook of each arm.

Arthur had leaned down to kiss his wife's forehead, damp with sweat from her long, fighting labor, and patted her cheek.

"They'll be fine," he assured her.

"Do you think they'll be close with one another? Inseparable?"

"I hope so."

They indeed became the deeply bonded pair their parents had hoped for so dearly, and hadn't ever spent more than an overnight apart.

But now, twenty-four years later, the Weasley twins stood at a precipice—it was late into the night of May 11th, and all of George's things were packed.

Fred stood doubled over, bent at the waist with his head and shoulders hidden inside the refrigerator. With the soft clanging of glass, he emerged with a beer bottle in each hand, lightly kicking the door shut and spinning around to face the kitchen island where George sat on a stool.

"Thanks," George muttered as Fred popped off each of the caps and slid one of the Guinness bottles towards him across the counter, leaving a trail of condensation behind. They simultaneously each grasped their own, lifting them into the air to meet with the other's across the counter with a light clink, and took a few gulps. They'd developed a taste for the dark Muggle beer back when they'd attended the Quidditch World Cup and partook in the Irish celebration of victory, graciously accepting the offer of free ale from the wizards at the next campsite and conveniently forgetting to mention they were underage at the time.

"Where's Ava tonight?" George asked his twin, setting the bottle down and raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

Fred set his drink down as well, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smirking a little. "Missed our little chef's company that much tonight, did you?" he asked, referring to Ava's presence every night over the past few days—particularly, in their kitchen. Dakota Murray, still being treated as a prisoner and still disgruntled and annoying as ever, was confined to the third floor of the Treehouse, in turn taking over Ava's former sleeping space. Fred had invited her to stay with him and George in their apartment, where she immediately began cooking as much as possible. She consistently had a rather impressive, multi-course dinner ready for the twins as soon as they came upstairs at the end of each day, dirty and exhausted from cleaning up and repairing their ruined store.

"Me and Mom used to cook together," she'd informed him after he stared at her in incredulity as she whistled to herself and withdrew various cooking utensils, grinning over a mixing bowl. "It was our thing. It relaxes me. Shut up and let me feed you."

"By all means," he'd encouraged her, grinning back and nodding in approval.

George felt his face reddening slightly and took another sip of beer to hide his embarrassed smile. "No," he finally answered. "Your grey mush was quite good."

"It was Shepherd's pie."

"Is that what it was?"

George laughed loudly and ducked his head down as Fred whipped a dish towel his way, narrowly missing his face.

"She's staying the night with Ginny over at the house," Fred finally answered, joining in on the laughter with his twin.

"Why?"

"Damn, was the dinner really that awful?"

"On a scale of one to 'rip my tongue out', it was an eight," George replied, howling with laughter again as Fred threw another item across the counter at him, this time, a wooden spoon. It clattered to the floor and slid under the couch in the sitting room. "But really, mate...do whatever you need to do to keep her around after I'm gone, you hear me? God only knows you can't feed yourself."

A sudden tone of sobriety suddenly came over the air as the word 'gone' left George's lips. A few moments of silence passed between the brothers; George fidgeting on the stool and Fred bending to lean his elbows on the counter.

"I thought we should just have this night to ourselves," Fred said eventually, avoiding his twin's eyes. "It _is_ our last night living together, you know."

"The end of an era," George said in a sarcastic wistful tone, tilting his bottle back to take another sip.

Fred sighed, and his face remained fallen. "George...I'm serious. I mean come on mate, look around."

His brown eyes traveled pointedly across the apartment, and George craned his neck around to look along with him. Brown boxes were spread around in a disorderly fashion; they were stacked on top of one another precariously, and put in no particular order—some were clustered together by the front door, some, in the middle of the sitting room floor, and some trailed all along the hallway leading to each of the twins' bedrooms. His haphazard packing had simultaneously turned the flat into a maze of sorts, and a sad, pathetic museum: _This is where George Weasley used to live. This used to be his bedroom. This closet used to hold his things._ The whole situation was rather awkward and depressing.

"Yeah," George replied, nodding and turning back to face Fred. "It's...weird."

"Angie's got the house all set up, then?"

"Yes...well, with the exception of all this shit," George said, vaguely gesturing towards all of the boxes. "You're going to help me Charm these tonight so they start arriving at the place, aren't you? Kenmare's a bit far for a one person Sending Spell, I think."

"Maybe I will, maybe I wont," Fred teased, smirking. "You two couldn't have just moved in down the bloody street, eh?"

George rolled his eyes but smiled back nonetheless. "It's close to her father and it's close to her new job. She's working as a trainer for the Kenmare Kestrels now, did I tell you?"

"You did," Fred replied simply, lifting the bottle to his lips again.

"Fred," George said in a sudden serious tone, his voice gentle. "You know I'm only an Apparition away, right?"

His twin's empty bottle made a dull glass-to-surface thud as he set it down for the last time, and he waited until Fred looked across and met his eyes.

"I know," Fred said in nearly a whisper with a single nod. He began drumming his fingers on the countertop. "George...pray tell, how did this..._thing_, with Angie even start?"

George laughed. "And by 'thing', you're referring to our wedding tomorrow?"

Fred grinned back. "All of it. I remember you asking me in the hospital one day for my blessing for you to date her, but how did it even happen?"

George hesitated answering for a moment; he and Fred shared everything, but this was it: the one topic they'd never touched upon. It was, understatedly, awkward, and had always just hung around as the unspoken agreed upon thing not open for discussion.

"Do you remember the day in the hospital you lost your shit and screamed at her? Told her to stop visiting you?" George began slowly, mirroring his twin and drumming his fingertips on the counter as well.

Fred froze. "Yes."

"Do you remember what happened after that?"

Fred screwed up his face in concentration, thinking of the memory. "Honestly...not really, no."

George shrugged. "She ran out. I berated you for a minute and then I went out and found her, crying out in the garden. I offered to...take her somewhere. Get her mind off of...things." He was clearly struggling with his words, trying to be as delicate as possible, his face resembling an expression like that of someone smelling something awful.

Fred thankfully broke through the tension, leaning forward and offering a lopsided smirk. "You took her to a bar, didn't you?"

"Actually, I took her to Florean Fortescue's for an ice cream. His son rebuilt it after the war you know, with a nice big portrait of his dad, it was really quite nice-"

"Ice cream?" Fred asked, a dubious tone to his voice. "She-"

"Hates ice cream, yeah, I know that now," George interjected, laughing lightly and shaking his head. "Didn't know it at the time. She just sat there, letting it all melt, playing with the hot fudge with her spoon...at the time I thought it was because she was still upset about you, honestly."

Fred bit his bottom lip and wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe she was."

George smirked back. "Well, she got over it, clearly."

Fred flicked some of the water from the small condensation puddle around his empty beer bottle at his twin amongst their laughter, and George collected their bottles, walking towards the garbage bin to dispose of them. "So I'm taking it Ava will be serving as your date tomorrow, then?" George asked over his shoulder.

Fred snorted. "She will be attending and I'm certain we'll be spending time together and perhaps sharing a dance or two, if that's what you mean by being 'my date'."

George leaned his back against the kitchen sink, folding his arms across his chest and grinning at the redness creeping up his twin's neck. "You're falling in love with her, aren't you?"

"What? I—what? George, I've known her for five weeks!" Fred sputtered back, the redness on his cheeks turning an impressive shade of magenta.

"I didn't ask you how long you knew her. I asked you if you were falling in love with her."

They remained at a stalemate for a few moments; George staring at his brother with a smarmy smirk and Fred leaning his hip on the island, chewing on his upper lip.

"Speaking of your ever-nearing nuptials, I have a gift for you," Fred suddenly announced, turning on his heel and disappearing down the hallway towards the bedrooms.

"Impressive change of subject," George muttered to himself.

"I heard that, you prick," Fred said, grinning and reappearing in the kitchen, a large, rectangular box in his arms. He set it down on the island. It was made of a dark, rich brown wood, with brass colored hinges at the back and a clasp joining the top and bottom pieces together along the front seam.

George raised a single eyebrow. "You've got me a jewelry box?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "You're an ass, you know that? Open it. Like I said, it's a gift. Best Man's got to give the groom a gift, right?"

"Actually, I don't know if that's tradition, but I accept nonetheless," George replied, walking back over to the island and standing by Fred's side.

"Open it," Fred repeated.

George's hands rose to meet the box, and he squeezed the clasp, pulling back the lid with his other hand. He furrowed his brows together, studying the object inside.

It was a Beater's bat, and not just anyone's—he leaned down, squinting at the 'F' engraved on the golden handle down at the base. It was absolutely defaced from years of use; covered in uneven dents in the wood and scratch marks, but it had been beautifully restored: it now looked quite elegant; the whole thing was shiny, almost waxy, as though someone had taken the time to gently buff out the rough edges of the marred bits. The golden handle had been cleaned and polished as well. The ends of the bat were being hugged by black iron hooks, meeting in a straight piece behind it, little holes in the iron George could only guess were meant for nails.

"It's my old bat," Fred said excitedly, his eyes going back and forth from the bat to George's face, waiting to gouge his reaction. "The piece it's attached to is meant for mounting, you can nail it into the wall in your new house."

George wordlessly reached into the box and pulled the bat and attached mounting piece out, holding its' heaviness in his hands, marveling at the soft smoothness of his brother's rehabilitated bat. It was beautiful enough for a museum, really.

"I love it," he murmured, wrapping his fingers around the handle and squeezing it a little, his palm pressing against the golden F.

"It's not just for show," Fred continued eagerly, and threw open one of the island drawers. "Watch this."

His hand emerged from the drawer with one of their largest chopping knives, and George could barely contain himself from crying out in surprise as he watched Fred raise the knife to his own neck, the blade brushing against his throat.

"Fred, what the fuck are you playing at-"

But he suddenly stopped talking as Fred's old Beater's bat still gripped in his hands began vibrating quite violently, shaking his arms all the way up to his shoulders, and illuminated in a blindingly silvery-blue color.

Fred laughed and set the knife down on the countertop, wiggling his eyebrows again. "Impressive, isn't it?"

"What...the bloody hell...was that?" George nearly panted, staring down at the bat. As soon as Fred had dropped the knife, its' glow had disappeared and the vibrating had ceased.

Fred had a triumphant smile on his face, and his eyes were sparkling. "It alerts you when _yours truly_ is in danger. _Real_ danger, not 'I'm out of clean underwear'-type danger. I know it's a little morbid, but I figured it might come in handy, living apart and everything, you know? And I'm working on your old bat so we'll each have one. The coolest part is if it's alerting one of us, and we grab on to it, it'll Apparate us right to the other. Well...what do you think?"

Fred's smile faded a bit and became an expression of slight worry as George remained quiet, still staring down at the bat. "Georgie?"

George sighed and began nodding, finally looking up to meet his twin's eyes. "It's bloody brilliant, is what it is."

Fred broke out into a wide grin as George set the bat with its' attached mounting piece back into the wooden box.

"It's brilliant," George whispered again, taking a step forward and crushing his brother into a hug, clapping him on the back hard. "Your best invention yet."

Fred let out a relieved chuckle and embraced his twin back. "I'm happy I'm your Best Man," he said in a low voice, giving the back of George's neck a brief, firm squeeze.

George released him but stayed standing close, making eye contact with Fred and nodding once. "I'm happy you're my brother."

* * *

"We're penguins, George. We're bloody fucking penguins. Send us to the Arctic, it's over."

George usually would have some kind of smart retort to offer back to Fred, but he remained stunned, staring at their reflection together in the long standing mirror. They both wore slim-fit, tailored tuxedos in the classic composition of black and white, with glossy patent leather shoes. The only things differing their appearance was George's missing ear, exaggerated by his formal, slicked-back hairstyle for today, and a rose of the lightest blue color pinned to his tuxedo jacket lapel, signaling him as the groom.

"PENGUINS!" Fred repeated loudly, and clapped his arms at his sides, extending his fingers out like tiny fins, and began waddling around his twin in tight circles. His voice echoed throughout the small chamber, bouncing off the stone walls. They were inside one of the rooms of the small castle on the property the wedding was to take place on. It was Angelina's Uncle's Spring Barley farm, an enormous area with sprawling fields of the tall grass that waved beautifully in the early Summer breeze.

George was able to let out a laugh, temporarily relieving some of the butterflies flitting about in his abdomen, and shook his head. "I think we look kind of dashing. We've never dressed up like this."

Fred ceased his waddling and sighed, turning back to look at himself in the mirror again and fiddling with his bowtie. "And _why_ are we wearing these, again?" he grumbled, his eyes shifting over to George's reflection.

George raised and lowered one shoulder, and fidgeted oddly in place. He alternated between puffing his chest out and elongating his neck, and turned his face side to side, studying the different angles. "Angie's father is a Muggle, you know that. He asked her to incorporate some traditional things into the wedding. He's wearing one of these himself, so, I dunno, I thought it would be nice if we did as well so he wouldn't be the only one."

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"What?"

"Are you...George, are you _posing?_"

Fred could barely contain his laughter as George made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away from the mirror, rubbing his face with his hands. "It's just...I want to actually look nice, you know? When she walks down the aisle, I want her to see me and think I look nice. Not like some goofy wanker."

"I can't promise you don't look like a goofy wanker wearing that tuxedo."

"You. Are. Not. Helping," George replied through gritted teeth, rubbing his face again. "I'm nervous! God, why am I nervous? I'm never nervous! About anything! Why am I so Goddamned-"

But his words were interrupted as Fred tapped on his shoulder from behind. He turned around, only to receive a swift slap right across his cheek from his twin. When he opened his eyes, his face stinging, Fred's lips were pursed, and he shrugged.

"Better?" he asked.

George took a moment, but then nodded tightly. "Yeah, actually. I needed that." He took a deep breath and turned on his heel, walking slowly out of the tiny room towards the corridor.

"Where are you going? The ceremony is supposed to start in five minutes!" Fred called after him.

"I think I'm going to go vomit in the toilet," George said weakly over his shoulder, and disappeared around a corner.

Fred shook his head and laughed to himself just as a soft knock sounded at the wooden door that lead to the outside. Wondering who it could be, he wrinkled his forehead in curiosity and swung it open.

Fred was temporarily blinded by the almost white glare of the sunshine suddenly streaming in, and Ava's voice appeared before she did.

"Hey handsome."

He felt her body crushing against his in a tight embrace, her arms wrapped around his neck and her hair tickling his chin. He swung his arm out and fumbled around like a blind fool for a moment before finding the door again and pushing it shut. She laughed lightly in his ear and pulled away as he blinked furiously, willing away the white spots dancing before his eyes.

When his vision was finally cleared, he felt a grin spreading across his face all on it's own as he took in Ava's appearance. Her hair was halfway up, the front parts pulled away from her face and gathered at the back of her head in a soft bun. She had charcoal colored powder shadowing across her eyelids, and a darker shade of grey lining around her lashes. She wore what he vaguely remembered as one of Ginny's old dresses that he may have seen her wear once—it was sage green, hanging off her shoulders and flaring out right above her knees. It matched the color of her eyes perfectly.

"You look amazing," she said, her eyes shining and her smile wide.

"I look like a penguin," he murmured, reaching out and snaking his arms around her hips, pulling her against him again and leaning his head down. "You look beautiful."

The "l" sound of 'beautiful' had barely left his lips before he pushed them against hers, taking her upper lip into his mouth lightly and rubbing their foreheads together. He suddenly inexplicably felt absolutely intoxicated with lust; breathing through his nose deeply and letting his hands roam up and down her lower back.

Ava giggled against his mouth and pulled a hair's width away. "Well, hello, it's nice to see you too."

He grinned back and kept his eyes closed, cupping her face in one hand and crushing his lips to hers again. "I missed you last night," he murmured, and tilted his head to the opposite side as he kissed her more.

"I missed you too," she whispered back. "But you know you're wearing a slim-fitting tuxedo, right?"

Fred had been leaning down to kiss her again but suddenly froze in place, reality coming crashing back to him as he realized the tight discomfort his pants had suddenly taken on around his groin. He sighed heavily.

"I hate this thing," he muttered, and she laughed, reaching up and patting his cheek.

"You look like a ginger James Bond. It's pretty sexy, actually."

He wrinkled his nose. "James who?"

She laughed before shaking her head. "Never mind. Forget it. Ginny actually sent me," she said, leaning her chest against his and looking up at him. "She wanted me to make sure you had the rings on you so when the officiator asks for them, you have them ready and you don't go 'turning the ceremony to shit'. Her words, not mine."

Fred grinned. "I have them."

She grinned back, standing up on her tip-toes and lightly kissing him on the tip of his nose. "Good. My job here is done, then."

"Hey," he said, catching her hand as she began to turn away towards the door. "You'll dance with me at the reception?"

Her cheeks got slightly pink as she shrugged. "I haven't danced in years, Fred."

He shrugged back at her, still grinning. "Neither have I."

She laughed a little and nodded, taking a deep breath. "Okay. Yeah, let's do it."

Ava gave his hand a squeeze before turning again and heading towards the door, and Fred couldn't help himself: he took a hurried step forward, leaning down and swinging his arm forward, giving her a light swat right across the ass over her dress. She turned her head over her shoulder, her jaw dropped in mock outrage, but it looked more like a smile.

"What's gotten into you today, hmm?" she asked, her eyes narrowed and mischievous.

Fred smirked back at her innocently, biting his bottom lip for a moment before answering. "Dunno. But I kind of like it."

She stared back wordlessly at first, before giggling to herself and pulling open the door, stepping halfway through it. "I do too," she replied, and bit her lip right back at him, winking her right eye before laughing again and shutting the door behind her.

* * *

Five minutes later, running just a few minutes behind schedule, the twins stood beside one another at the forefront of one of the open fields surrounding the farm. The both of them jumped in place as the sound of thunder rolled in the distance, and George tilted his head backwards to look up at the darkening sky, frowning.

"It was sunny not even ten minutes ago!" Fred hissed in George's ear, leaning forward, his hands clasped at his front.

"If it rains during the ceremony, Angelina will have a cow," George whispered back, gnawing on his lip. "She's been dreaming of getting married here her whole life, among _beautiful fucking summer weather_." He looked up at the sky again, scowling as though he was taking the sudden change in conditions personally.

"Don't worry mate," Fred muttered, reaching up and clapping George on the shoulder heartily. "Everything's going to be perfect."

"It better fucking be," George replied, patting his forehead with a handkerchief and reminding Fred strikingly of their father.

Laughing to himself as silently as possible, Fred let his eyes wander to the small audience of seated guests, and met eyes with Ava, who was sitting beside Ginny in the second row. Ginny was whispering into her ear but she didn't seem to be paying much attention; her eyes were just as glued to his as they were to hers. Just like he had in the small dressing chamber, he bit his lip and winked again, taking enormous personal pleasure in the blush that began blossoming over her cheeks.

A low, excited murmur began washing over the seated guests as a wizard in light blue robes to match the wedding colors—someone Fred could only guess was the officiant—began striding down the center aisle, a wide, gentle smile across his face.

"Hey," George whispered, nudging his elbow backward to Fred. "One last thing. Please do not pull any..._stunts_, tonight."

Fred felt his jaw physically drop open a bit as the officiant approached them and nodded in hello, shaking George's hand. "Who the fuck are you, Percy?"

George only chuckled nervously for half a second before mopping his forehead again. "Look, it's just...Angie's Dad is a Muggle, and-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't scare the Natives, I get it," Fred muttered back, rolling his eyes. He caught the gaze of Alicia Spinnet, Angelina's best friend, standing on the opposite side as the bride's representative, as he was to George.

_Kill me now_, he mouthed to her, and he could see her laughing.

"Oh my God, it's starting!" George exclaimed softly, jumping in place as the trio of string instrumentalists at the back of the audience began playing music. Their mother's hysterical sobs of happiness instantly filled the air and their father patted her leg, looking up at them apologetically.

Fred touched his twin's shoulder again. "It's going to be perfect."

George only nodded and suddenly perked up quite comically, like a dog's interest being piqued at the sound of a whistle. Fred looked across the field to where George's gaze was trained upon, and saw it: Angelina and a tall, dark skinned man in a suit Fred could only assume was her father had exited the front of the small castle and were making their way across the field towards them. The eager buzzing of the audience intensified as everyone rose to their feet, craning their necks to get a look at the approaching bride as another round of thunder rumbled above them.

"Fred...do I really look like a penguin?" George hissed over his shoulder hurriedly, his voice shaking.

Fred smiled to himself and shook his head. "No. You don't. Now stop worrying and take in the moment, why don't you, your wife is coming down the aisle."

The instrumentalists changed their tune to a different song as Angelina and her father approached the start of the aisle, at the back of the audience. Fred could hear the soft coos of admiration from guests as they gazed adoringly at her.

She did, in fact, look quite beautiful: her chocolate-toned skin was in stark contrast against the ivory of her gown, which had an antique style to it, with a high collar and accents of beading. Her glossy black hair hung in waves and was topped off with a sheer veil attached with a headband, beaded with pearls. There were already tears streaming down her face as she made eye contact with George, one hand gripping a bouquet of light blue roses and Spring Barley and the other, nestled tightly in the crook of her father's arm. He was a serious man, standing tall with his chest puffed out, straining against his tuxedo. His mouth was a straight line but Fred could swear he could see his chin wobbling with the threat of oncoming tears.

He walked her down the aisle between the sections of guests' seating, and as they neared, George suddenly yelped with a small sob.

_I love you,_ she mouthed, looking right at him. Fred could see his twin's chin moving slightly as he mouthed the words back to her.

Angelina and her father embraced tightly, some of her tears reaching the edge of her jaw and landing on his shoulder as they hugged, rocking back and forth for a couple of seconds.

"I wish Mum were here," Fred heard Angelina whisper in her father's ear.

Something jolted inside of Fred's stomach as he heard that, suddenly thinking of how hard this must be for Angelina—her mother had passed away when they were fourteen, away at Hogwarts. They'd been at Quidditch practice when Professor McGonagall had come walking solemnly on to the field, her eyes trained on Angelina, a letter clutched in her hand.

How sad it was, for her, to not have her mother here on this day. Yet how lucky they were, to all have each other...maybe not fully healed from wounds of the past, but here. Whole.

Thunder reverberated in the distance.

As Angelina's father sat in the front row and Angelina passed her bouquet to Alicia to hold, standing before George and joining hands with him, the officiant began talking about why they were here that day, and what marriage meant, and how George and Angelina should be expected of one another to act as husband and wife. Fred stood tall and smiled over George's shoulder, but he couldn't help but let his mind wander.

There had been so many days over the past four years in which he'd pitied himself. Woken up from his comatose state after the Battle, temporarily blinded and unable to move his legs, pitying himself. Throwing pillows across the room and snarling at Healers who were nothing but kind to him, pitying himself. Sobbing at Ron and Hermione's wedding just slightly over a year ago, locked in the bathroom for almost an hour, pitying himself. Laid in bed, soaked with sweat and alone, pitying himself. Losing count of how many drinks he downed, finding himself drunk and stumbling and squeezing his eyes shut and mindlessly making love to women whose names he couldn't even recall, trying to drown all of his feelings, pitying himself. He'd slammed his fists into the wall outside the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, pitying himself. So much pity. So much self-loathing.

He'd been taught to walk again by George, he'd been trusted with the most delicate of missions from the Order, he'd made scones with his mother and sat beside Crater Lake and kissed someone again, _really_ kissed someone, and felt something, the sweet taste of Ava's lips still lingering in his mouth, the feeling of her breasts crushed against his chest still strong in his memory, the look of her mischievous grin still playing behind his eyelids.

He'd pitied himself so much, yet he had so much to be grateful for.

Life—his life, returning to his grasp, no longer filtering through his fingers like smoke—had returned to him, jolting him back into living, and no longer just existing. He'd been pushing so much away—support from Healers, love from his family, Ava's cautious tip-toe into his room as he suffered with pain and fell apart at the seams—and now, as he watched George's lightly freckled thumb pass over Angelina's dark hand lovingly as they looked into each others' eyes and listened to the officiant, nodding happily together, he found himself instead, deciding to push all of the rotten things away—the pity, the tears, the anger, the fear, the sharp taste of whiskey from a flask as his hands shook in anxiety. If he was going to have this damned wall in front of his heart, however minuscule it was now, he was going to stop using it to keep all of the good and warm things out, and instead, use it to keep them in. Keep them close.

"Fred? Did you hear me? The rings?"

The officiant's voice suddenly broke through the daze he found himself in, and he jumped slightly. He could see Ginny scowling at him from the audience, Ava's message from her echoing in his head: _she wanted me to make sure you had the rings on you so when the officiator asks for them, you have them ready and you don't go 'turning the ceremony to shit'._

He couldn't help but nervously giggle to himself as he patted all of his suit pockets frantically, grinning lopsidedly at the slightly frowning officiant.

"I hope I haven't gone and turned the ceremony to shit!" he found himself saying aloud. George's shoulders were shaking with laughter as the officiant reached around him, and Fred deposited the rings into his palm, shrugging.

"Now for the exchanging of the rings and vows!" the officiant announced, passing George and Angelina their rings.

George was first. He took Angelina's left hand in both of his own, her light blue engagement ring sparkling even in the overcast afternoon.

"You are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. Light of my Spell, and Wood of my Wand. I give you my body, that we Two might be One. I give you my Spirit, `til our life shall be done," he murmured, his voice warm and full of affection, as he slid a silver band on her shaking finger, stacking it in front of her engagement ring.

The love between them was obvious as Angelina let out a nervous, breathless giggle, and George joined in it along with her as she took his hand in return.

"You are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. Light of my Spell, and Wood of my Wand. I give you my body, that we Two might be One. I give you my Spirit, `til our life shall be done," she repeated back to him, and pushed a thicker silver band onto his ring finger.

The officiant extracted a silky, crème colored cord from his robes. "George and Angelina, please join both hands," he instructed. They obliged, and he began wrapping the rope around their hands in a figure-eight pattern, singing a Celtic tune softly as he did.

Fred felt the sudden urge to turn his head as subtly as possible and steal a look at Ava. Something inside of him was hoping she would be looking back at him, but he found her to be staring directly at his twin and Angelina quite intensely as their Hand Fasting ceremony wore on. She was barely blinking, her gaze almost resembling one of curiosity, and even a bit of hope, her head cocked to one side just slightly. And suddenly, a single tear rolled down her cheek.

"May God be with you and bless you. May you see your children's children. May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings. May you know nothing but happiness—from this day forward," the officiant said, holding his hands over George and Angelina as though he were blessing them from his very palms. He lowered his arms and grinned widely. "You are husband and wife—you may kiss!"

Guests sprang to their feet and erupted into applause as George and Angelina eagerly took one another into each other's arms and met in a kiss. Fred could hear Lee somewhere in there howling like a wolf as the kiss wore on quite long and passionately, and Fred stuck his fingers in his mouth, whistling and stomping his feet. They all ignored the first gentle pitter-patters of raindrops beginning to fall around them.

* * *

"If I'm not mistaken, you owe me a dance."

Ave could feel her cheeks reddening before she even turned away from her conversation with Alicia Spinnet and another one of the twins' old school friends, Katie Bell. She'd been trying to avoid this moment all night; dinner had been served and the dance floor had been opened, and she found herself ducking around Fred and busying herself with as many meet-and-greets as possible. The wedding reception was taking place in the old castle's moderately-sized ballroom, flickering with torchlight and echoing with the flamboyant sounds of the band playing on the small stage.

"So your plan is to tango the poor girl to death, eh?" Katie jeered at Fred over Ava's shoulder. "Sweetie, don't let this boy run you ragged," she said to Ava, touching her arm. "He almost killed Angelina at the school's Yule Ball."

Fred wrapped his fingers around Ava's wrist and spun her around to face him, smoothly pulling her against his chest and placing her arm on his shoulder. "That was almost eight years ago, Spinnet," he shot back, holding Ava's free hand in the air and wrapping his forearm around her waist. "I'm at least twenty-five percent less deadly now!"

"Comforting!" Katie called after them, right after they disappeared into the sea of people on the crowded dance floor.

"Fred," Ava said in a pleading voice, her face panicked as she stumbled over her feet, miserably failing at Fred's attempts to lead her. "I don't know how to do...this."

"This?" he asked her loudly, and nudged her heels, making her slip backwards. He caught her dramatically, dipping her low to the ground.

"I'm going...to kill you," Ava said breathlessly, her eyes wide. Fred could feel her fingernails digging deeply into the skin at the back of his neck, hanging on for dear life.

He grinned widely and pulled her upright, resuming an easy, upbeat waltz, doing nothing more than rocking side to side and taking a few steps here and there. "Loosen up, McKinney, you're as stiff as a board," he chided her sarcastically.

She suddenly leaned in, closing the space between them, standing up on her toes as her lips nearly brushed against his ear. "I could say the same thing about you before in the dressing room."

Fred's grin turned into a smirk and a hint of embarrassed warmth spread across his cheeks. "I have a theory," he announced to her.

"What's that?"

"It's the clothes. These fancy clothes."

"What about them?"

Now it was Fred's turn to lean in close, he bent at the shoulders and craned his neck down, whispering to her. "There's something about them that just makes me want to take them off...because they are so fucking annoying."

Ava laughed hysterically, throwing her head back a bit and even snorting.

"Hey!" he exclaimed as they were roughly jostled by a passer-by squeezing through the crowd, hopping to the side and holding on to Ava so she didn't tip over. The wizard either didn't notice or didn't care, he continued pushing through the crowd until he excitedly made his way over to an exhausted looking Minister of Magic, sitting at a table with dark purple rings around his eyes.

"What's wrong with Kingsley?" Ava asked Fred softly as they resumed their simplistic dance.

He looked down at her. "He's been talking to—or attempting to talk to, I should say—our friend Dakota, non-stop. Twirl," he suddenly instructed, and Ava's eyes became wide as he gently pushed her out to his arm's length, holding her arm overhead with his and turning her around. She actually completed the movement without falling or stumbling, and Fred nodded in approval as he pulled her back up against him.

"Attempting?" she asked breathlessly, her face splotchy and excited from the sudden spin.

"He's been giving him a hard time."

"But when we spoke to him, he seemed kind of eager to...let it out," she said, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

The band suddenly slowed their lively tune and entered into a slow, smoky jazz piece. Fred and Ava slowed their pace and adjusted their grasps on one another; Fred let both of his hands rest on her hips and she wound her arms around his shoulders, clasping her hands together at the back of his neck.

"Right," Fred finally replied, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "But he doesn't want to talk to anyone else. Anyone besides you or Ginny, that is."

Just then, Ginny herself smoothly sailed by, her body clothed in a simple grey dress and pressed up against Harry's in a dance. She made eye contact with Ava and winked once before becoming swallowed by the crowd and disappearing from sight again. Ava giggled and shook her head, and looked up to see Fred slightly frowning.

"I don't want either of you girls going up there to see him unless you're with me, got it?" he asked sternly.

Ava raised a single eyebrow. "You really don't like him, do you?"

Fred rolled his eyes a bit but relieved the tension by allowing a sheepish grin to spread over his face. "I don't like cocky gits who try to take what's mine," he replied, staring at her pointedly.

She let out a low whistle, laughing again. "Is that what I am?"

He nudged her heels again, but this time, she was ready for it, and let her body go limp as he cradled her back and dipped her. "You're mine," he said in a husky voice, and planted a kiss on the side of her elongated neck, watching the sensitive goosebumps rise in a river along her skin and reveling in the actual shudder he felt going up her spine.

He brought her back upright, and her hands met at the nape of his neck again. She suddenly began passing her thumbs back and forth across the exposed bit of skin, feeling the short red hairs at the beginning of his hairline stand on end and grinning. "I think you're supposed to _ask _me, not tell me," she challenged him.

Fred grinned back at her and pushed her outward, spinning her again. "You're...mine?" he repeated himself, but changed the pitch of his voice, phrasing it as more of a question.

She whirled back to him slowly as the song died down, not even bothering to finish twirling all the way, her shoulders pressing up against his chest, her lower back between his hips. "I'm yours," she whispered back, and he leaned down over her shoulder as she tilted her chin up to kiss him. Their lips stayed glued together even after the band stopped playing and the crowd around them erupted in applause, and they only jumped in surprise and separated when Lee's voice met their ears.

"Fred...they're gonna cut the cake...come on, come on, we can't miss this," he was urging, and suddenly Fred was tugging Ava through the crowd towards the cake table in the corner.

"I didn't know you got this excited over cake," Ava said to Fred loudly as they squeezed by people loudly cheering for Angelina and George.

"Tonight is special," he said hurriedly over his shoulder, and they finally reached the edge of the crowd and popped to the forefront.

George and Angelina stood beside one another before the tiered, light blue cake, both looking absolutely ecstatic and positively exhausted. George's bowtie and suit jacket were missing and Angelina's veil was gone, and their faces were visibly damp as they grinned while cutting away a slice of their cake.

"Watch this," Fred murmured to Ava, nudging her arm with his elbow as George and Angelina simultaneously fed one another forkfuls of their wedding cake amongst polite applause.

"Oh no...Fred...what did you do...you wouldn't..."

"He would!" Lee said in a near squeal, bouncing back and forth on his heels.

As though a dozen balloons had exploded at the same time, an obnoxiously loud popping noise echoed throughout the castle's stone ballroom, and a wave of gasps passed throughout the crowd as George and Angelina transformed into two tiny, bright yellow Canary birds. The one that formerly stood as Angelina had a tiny veil coming from the back of it's head, no larger than a facial tissue, and the one that was George, a miniature top hat. They beat their wings rapidly, hovering in the air beside each other and furiously squeaking.

Lee was the first to begin nearly screaming with laughter; doubled over with his hands resting on his knees as tears of mirth streaked his face. "This...is fucking...classic," he gasped.

The rest of the room erupted into laughter as well as the popping noise returned and the birds were transformed back into George and Angelina, pink faced and looking somewhat dazed, pale yellow bits of cake framing their surprised mouths.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry!" Fred gasped, laughing so hard it actually sounded as though he were crying. His words were directed to George, who was doing his best to at first look unamused, but then surrendered and exploded into laughter as well. "It was Canary Cream...in the cake...I know you said no stunts, I'm sorry, but come on...one of us was getting married...it had to be done!"

* * *

Fred Apparated himself and Ava into the dark and quiet flat at nearly midnight, the both of them soaked to the bone and dripping with rainwater from running outside the castle and bidding George and Angelina farewell before they took their Portkey to Bermuda.

"They get to go to the bloody Caribbean and here I am looking like a drowned rat," Fred grumbled, pulling off his shoes and turning them upside-down, letting the water empty out of them.

Ava smiled over at him while slipping out of her own shoes and giving her long blonde hair a twist, squeezing out some of the water into the kitchen sink. "I thought you were a penguin. Now it's a rat?"

"I come in many different forms," he said, smirking and unbuttoning his dress shirt. "Come on, let's get out of these wet clothes." He nonchalantly threw his soaked black tuxedo jacket and shirt on to the floor of the sitting room and began walking towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

Ava was about to follow him when she suddenly heard the scrape of what sounded like a cardboard box against the floor come from down the hallway, and she realized Fred's shuffling footsteps had ceased.

"Fred?" she called, letting go of her hair and straightening up. There was no answer, save for the rumbling of thunder outside and a dripping sound coming from somewhere inside the flat.

She didn't know quite what it was, but something about Fred's sudden silence made her nervous. Butterflies invaded her stomach as she hurried forward and to the right, striding to the hallway Fred had disappeared down. She was relieved to see him just standing there, his back to her, about halfway to his bedroom. His head was hanging and he was staring at something at his feet.

"Fred?" she repeated, padding softly down the hallway and nearing him, leaving wet footprints behind her on the hardwood floors.

He remained quiet and motionless as she approached him and stood at his side, curiously peering down to see what he was staring at. It was indeed a cardboard box, not much larger than one meant to hold shoes. She crouched down and picked it up, rising to her feet and holding it out before them. There was nothing special about it, in fact, it was quite ordinary-just a cardboard box, with GEORGE scrawled across the top.

Ava looked over to Fred, who was frowning at the box. "What's the matter?"

His eyebrows were knitted together and he moved his lips back and forth as though he was deciding on something. "I don't know, it's just...he's really gone now, isn't he? Officially moved out. Just looks like we forgot one bloody box," he finished in a murmur, letting his fingertips brush over the surface of it.

"You've never lived apart, have you?"

"No." Fred was now staring out before him and slightly to the left. Ava followed his eyes and realized he was staring down the hall into George's now-former bedroom, where the door was ajar and the emptiness of the room was on full display.

Thunder struck again and the dripping sound within the flat suddenly became more rapid, more urgent.

"Come on, I'll make us some hot chocolate," Ava offered, taking Fred's arm gently and leading him back the way they came. With a sigh, Fred settled down to sit on one of the kitchen island stools that George himself had been sitting on just slightly over twenty-four hours ago as she busied herself looking for clean mugs.

"What the hell is that noise?" he finally exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

Ava raised her eyebrows. "The dripping noise?"

"Yes. The bloody dripping noise. Where is it coming from?"

He strode by her, exiting the kitchen, pausing only to grab an empty saucepan resting on top of the stove before continuing on his way. He had a determined, hungry look on his face, jutting out his head to the side comically as he listened hard.

"It sounds like you have a leak somewhere," Ava said, following him down the hall again. "Oh, no," she muttered to herself as she saw him disappear into George's empty room. She made her way to the end of the hall and pushed open the door, relieved to find him standing with his hands on his hips, staring up at the ceiling with a look of disdain. He'd placed the saucepan on the floor to collect the water rapidly dripping from the leak.

"Leaves me alone and leaves me with this," he said, biting on his bottom lip and shaking his head. "Fantastic."

A rather fat drop of water came down, making a loud pinging sound as it hit the metal saucepan and collected with the other droplets.

Ava exhaled deeply, and walked over to Fred's side. At first, she stood beside him, looking up at the ceiling and studying the leak as well. She waited until it has released six drops until she said something.

"You know," she began, thunder rolling in the distance, "you're not alone." She turned her gaze to her right to look at him and wait.

Fred remained expressionless for nearly a minute, pretending as though he didn't hear her, and showing an immense amount of interest in watching the ceiling leak. It took eight more drops for him to remind himself of the realization he'd had during the wedding, and the promise he made to himself to stop the self-pitying. Damn, he was so used to just feeling sorry for himself all the time, it had come to this? Letting an empty flat and a ceiling leak ruin his entire night?

"You're right," he said softly, and finally turned away from the leak, and towards Ava, who was staring at him with an expectant, gentle smile. He pulled her into an embrace, and they held each other for a while, even rocking back and forth slightly as though they were dancing again, listening to the storm outside and the dripping into the pan.

An immeasurable amount of raindrops fall from even just a single cloud during a rainstorm. They're all birthed from the same place, and have the same, yet separate journeys, plunging down through the atmosphere and making their way towards Earth. Some will land on completely separate streets from others, but it's quite funny—some, even though at times it seems like they're destined to be apart, end up dripping together into the same place in the end anyway.


	23. Chapter 23--Echo

**Chapter 23—Echo**

The incessant sound of the ceiling leak dripping into the saucepan combined with sharp hunger pangs gurgling around Fred's stomach awoke him from his sleep the next morning. He pulled his eyes open slowly, squinting against the bright glare of sunlight filling his bedroom. He lifted his head off the bed with a grunt, realizing how stiff and achy he felt all over—he and Ava had fallen asleep accidentally, still in their soaking wet formal wear, laying on top of his bedsheets while talking late into the night. The last thing Fred remembered was them laying on their sides, facing one another, but now, as he rather painfully turned his head to the left, he saw her curled up in the nook under his arm, her head resting on the edge of his chest and her outside leg hitched up, hooking around his hips.

He was awake but his arm remained asleep; it tingled from his shoulder down to his fingertips, no doubt from its awkward position wrapped around Ava's back the whole night as they slept. Fred began fluttering his fingers from pinky to index, willing the blood flow to return, rising and falling along Ava's spine as though he were gently playing a piano. Her slow, even breathing suddenly stopped for just a moment, and she inhaled deeply, her head shifting slightly as she woke up as well.

"What...what time is it?" she said in a strained voice, pushing against Fred's chest slightly to prop herself up on her elbow. She squinted hard and blinked rapidly against the morning sunlight, looking around the room with a confused expression on her face.

Fred couldn't help but snort with a repressed chuckle as he watched her, and her gaze traveled down to him.

"What's got you giggling like a schoolgirl?"

Fred's snorting increased to full-on laughter, the mattress shaking slightly under them as he held his hand to his chest, cracking up.

"You look...you look like a raccoon," he gasped, tears filling his eyes.

She frowned and raised a single eyebrow, her hand slowly rising to pat the top of her head. Her light blonde hair was mussed and frizzy, her former soft bun now resembling a bird's nest. Her fingers traveled down to her forehead and then to her eyes, rubbing from side to side across the bridge of her nose.

"Better?" she asked, dropping her hand.

Fred's continuous onslaught of mirth was clearly a 'no'. The charcoal colored eye makeup from the night before that had been elegantly dusted across her lids and lined along her lashes was now smeared all around her face, reaching from temple to temple and smudged all the way up to her eyebrows.

"Hey," she snapped, a smile forming on her lips as she reached down and smacked Fred across his belly. He responded in a breathless _"oof"_, but she rolled her eyes and continued. "Yesterday you insisted you looked like a penguin, and then a rat. Have we graduated to forest creatures now?"

"Don't look so insulted," he said in an amused tone of voice, reaching up to cup her cheek with his palm. "You're the prettiest raccoon I've ever seen."

"And you're an ass," she replied, but she didn't resist the gentle tugging along her face as he pulled her down to once again lay on his chest. She kissed him, but only for a second before frowning against his lips and pulling back, her eyes open and staring over her shoulder and out the doorway, her eyebrows furrowed as though she were concentrated on something.

"What is it?" Fred asked, stroking her upper arm.

"That dripping noise," she muttered, still frowning. "God, that's annoying."

"Yeah, speaking of," Fred replied, sitting up and scooting forward, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. "It's kind of making me want to piss."

Ava's eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip in the midst of a grin as she sprang to her feet. "No, no, no, me first!" she squealed, throwing herself off the bed and taking off in a sprint out of the bedroom, her terribly wrinkled green dress flowing out behind her.

"Oi! What the hell?!" Fred cried, stumbling to his feet and taking off after her, but she'd already beat him to the toilet and the bathroom door slammed shut amongst her giggling.

"You're going to pay for that, forest creature," Fred said in a mock threatening tone, standing outside the door with his foot tapping. A few seconds later, the sounds of flushing and the sink running preceded the door swinging open, and Ava and Fred shimmied around one another to switch places, her smirking up at him and him begrudgingly grinning down at her as they passed one another.

He swung his arm forward and swatted her across the ass before quickly shutting the door between them, laughing the whole time.

Ava shook her head but remained smiling as she leaned her side against the wall outside the bathroom door.

"Is this your new thing?" she called to him through the door. "Spanking me for your amusement?"

The toilet flushed, and she heard Fred laughing before the door swung open again. He was standing there in nothing but his tuxedo pants, his shirt removed and crumpled upon the bathmat. Ava blinked once in slight surprise; she hadn't seen him shirtless before, and she was taken aback by the white, slightly raised scars criss-crossing over his lightly freckled chest.

"Actually," he said, raising his arms to rest on either side of the doorframe and leaning his chest forward, the slight outline of abdominal muscles straining against his belly, "I think our new thing is fighting over who gets to use the toilet first. You better get used to sharing." He waited for Ava to say something back, or at least to laugh, but raised his eyebrows at her continual staring at his chest. He looked down at himself, then back up to her, one side of his mouth pulled up in a lopsided, cocky grin. "You see something you like?"

She jumped slightly. "No—I mean yes—I mean, that's not what I was staring at..." she trailed off as Fred's chest began shaking in laughter again. "What do you mean, I better get used to sharing?" she asked, finally looking back up to his face.

Fred mirrored her, leaning his side against the doorframe and folding his arms across his chest, their forearms brushing against one another. He looked down at her, the lopsided grin still tugging at his mouth. "I mean, I guess we don't have to share," he said, shrugging exaggeratedly. "I suppose we can take a pee at the same time, you'll just have to shimmy to the back of the seat and I can aim my stream between your legs..."

She reached out and attempted to slap him across the shoulder but he danced backwards out of her way, his eyes wide with immense amusement. "You're disgusting. I meant, you intend on me being here enough so that we'll have to do that? Learn to share?"

His grin faded down to a gentle smile and he leaned against the wall again. "I dunno...our jolly Jarhead friend Dakota is still imprisoned on the Treehouse's third level, is he not? And you've been staying overnight for almost a week straight now anyway..." he trailed off and shrugged again, but slower, and this time it was sincere. "Now that George is moved out...it's going to be kind of empty around here. And I don't know about you taking an empty bedroom at the Burrow, but I don't want to be alone."

Ava chewed on her upper lip for a few moments, meeting his brown eyes with her grey-green ones, the early morning sunlight filtering down the hall from the kitchen area over Fred's shoulder.

"I don't want to be alone either," she finally whispered back.

Fred leaned down, kissing the tip of her nose lightly. "Then stay."

* * *

Three days and about six or seven showdowns fighting for the toilet later, Fred and Ava received an owl, signed personally from the Minister of Magic himself.

Their presence was requested at the Treehouse—more specifically, the third level—which could only mean one thing: Kingsley needed help with Dakota Murray.

"I dare him to try me today," Fred mumbled as he lead the way down the bright orange staircase twisting into the shop. They'd left the wonderfully quiet flat behind, and as they descended into the still-closed store, the deep and loud hum of a chorus of voices coming from outside in the Alley met their ears. "I dare him."

"You talk a pretty big game, Fred Weasley," Ava said from behind him, mashing her lips together to fight a smile but unable to hide the amusement in her voice.

Fred briefly looked over his shoulder at her with a look on his face as though he was chewing on something foul.

"I'm sorry," Ava laughed, holding up her hands in an surrender-type pose as they reached the second-to-last landing and neared Wheeze's ground floor. "It's just...wow, you really hate him, don't you?"

"He gets on my bloody nerves," Fred mumbled back, pushing up his sleeves to his elbows. He suddenly stopped in his tracks, about to take the last couple of steps down, but froze in place and swung his arm out to stop Ava from walking out beside him.

"What is it?"

Fred didn't answer, but Ava followed his gaze to see what he was staring so hard at—the storefront's walls that had been blasted away by the Merryweather attack had been replaced with boards nailed together, but Fred and Lee had managed to re-install the glass-paneled French doors two days ago. And through the frosted glass was the unmistakable shape of a crowd in the street, a complete sea of people, wrapped around the storefront in a crescent shape.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Fred asked to no one in particular, and took the last couple of steps down. He strode to the double doors and let his hands rest on each of the handles, hesitating for a couple of seconds, before pulling them open towards him.

The dark and mostly empty shop flooded with light, and both Ava and Fred squinted and shielded their eyes from the sudden influx of blindingly-white sunshine. Ava remained standing on the floor in front of the staircase, one of her hands resting on the repaired bannister, while Fred stood in the open storefront, the door handles still in his grasp.

The sound that had formerly been the low hum of voices was suddenly amplified, and the enormous crowd pushing up against one another before the store started shouting as soon as Fred revealed himself.

"Fred Weasley, you tell us the truth!"

"Yes, and make it snappy!"

Fred was still rapidly blinking against the bright light, but he was not blind nor deaf: most of the people were waving what looked like copies of a newspaper in their fists, and their voices were urgent. Demanding. Angry, even.

"Where's George, Fred? We want to hear from him!"

"FROM BOTH OF YOU!"

"What happened to the store, Weasley?"

"What really happened?"

Fred once again cast a quick glance over his shoulder to Ava, but this time, his face was a cocktail of shock and confusion. His eyes were wide and completely circular, his eyebrows were raised all the way to his hairline, and his mouth was agape.

_What the fuck? _he mouthed to Ava, who shrugged. She took a step forward, intending to join him, but he held up his hand, signaling her to wait.

"Settle down, everyone, settle down...the shop will be back open soon, very soon...Merlin, can't you all read?" He began shouting back to the crowd and jabbed his right index finger to the side, pointing to the large poster he had hung upon the boards nailed to the front of the store: **CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. OPEN FOR BUSINESS AGAIN BEFORE YOU CAN SAY, 'GOBBLEDYGOOK'.**

"What happened here, Weasley?"

"Care to explain?"

"_Are our children safe?!"_

Fred moaned to himself, rolling his eyes and rubbing the back of his head vigorously amongst the stress. "Oh, for God's sake, what do you mean 'are your children safe'? I know the Dragon Bum thing is a bit much, but I assure you, it will NOT injure the...erm, excretor." He cringed at his own use of the word, and sheepishly shrugged to the crowd that was starting to resemble more of an angry mob.

"The problem," came a high pitched voice that hushed all the others, "is not your tacky products, Mister Weasley."

The crowd parted down the middle to reveal the face behind the voice floating towards him: Rita Skeeter.

"Oh, for the love of-" Fred started, but was interrupted by Rita's loud click-clacking of her heels against the cobblestone ground of the Alley as she made her way to the front, standing at the base of the three-step stoop, looking up at Fred's bewildered face.

"The problem is, _your lies_."

As though on cue, at the sound of the word 'lies', the crowd cheered and began yelling angry things once more. Fred rolled his eyes again.

"Funny you should use the word 'tacky', if it isn't the Queen of tacky herself," he began, gesturing down towards the blonde reporter and sniggering. She was clothed in a skin-tight suit consisting of a pencil skirt and heavily shoulder-padded blazer jacket, both made of some sort of shiny material and splashed with leopard print.

Rita raised a single, penciled-in eyebrow, her magenta glasses sliding down her thin nose, and held her right hand in the air to snap her fingers. With a crack that sounded like a whip, a roll of parchment and an enormous green quill appeared. The large, pea colored plume hovered and trembled its sharp tip upon the parchment, as though it were shaking in excitement to pen something.

"_Fred Weasley stands—no, hunches—in the doorway of his ruined store, the very picture of defeat and depression, looking out at the sea of angry consumers in desperation, hoping for understanding and forgiveness-"_ she began dictating to the quill, which began scratching upon the paper furiously.

"Alright, I'll bite," Fred sighed, frowning down at the woman. "Mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

Rita smirked and held out her arm to the nearest witch in the crowd waving a newspaper, who eagerly handed it over.

"Read the Prophet much nowadays, dear?" she said in a sing-song tone, reaching up to pass Fred the paper.

Fred snatched it out of her hand and unrolled it to see a moving photograph of himself and George and Lee from last week, a couple of days before the wedding. Their backs were to the camera as they held wooden planks in place, boarding up the storefront. The headline above it read: **Weasley's Wizard WEASELS?** And the sub-headline, below that:**Gone Too Far: Have our favorite red-headed pair brought Muggle artillery into the Alley?**

His eyes quickly scanned the article, understanding the situation at hand in a matter of seconds—an anonymous tipper had claimed to hear the ruckus from the late-night battle with Merryweather, and swore up and down he heard the sound of a gunshot.

Fred could feel a lump forming in his throat, but kept an amused expression painted upon his face to not betray the panic rising in his chest.

"Mind if I keep this?" he asked Rita, rolling up the paper again and waving it side to side. "I need something to wipe my ass next time I take a shit..."

Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses and the quill began excitedly dancing across the parchment again, this time without waiting for her dictation.

"Keep it if you want, Weasley, there's plenty more where that came from," she replied in a cool voice. "This edition is selling like hot-cakes."

Fred sarcastically frowned down at her in faux confusion. "Say, Skeeter, when did the Prophet allow you to start writing for them again? Weren't you declared an official disgrace to journalism, or something?"

"I think I'll be the one asking the questions today, Freddie," she shot back. "Come on then, give us the exclusive scoop: what happened here last week? Is the rumor of the gunshot true?"

"'Course it's not true," Fred scoffed. "George and I were just up late doing some experiments for a new product, is all. Something went wrong. Store went bang. The end."

"_Fred Weasley tells a tale of sleepless nights and a restless mind, up late burying himself in his work, last week no doubt hiding from his own feelings, heartbroken over the impending marriage between his twin brother and ex-girlfriend, Angelina Johnson-"_

"Oi, watch yourself, dung beetle!" Fred exclaimed, taking a step forward on the stoop. "Not everyone finds your lies so amusing!"

"_Fred Weasley stands before me, your trusted reporter, flailing about in defiance and increasing anger. Rumors of his unstable mental condition have swirled since his survival at the Battle of Hogwarts four years ago, where a twenty-year-old Fred was nearly crushed to death-"_

Fred whipped out his wand, his mouth curled in a snarl, just as Ava's hand softly touched upon his shoulder from behind.

"Let's go Fred, it isn't worth it," she urged in a low voice, squeezing his upper arm and glowering down at Rita and the surrounding crowd. She attempted to pull him backwards into the store, but his feet remained rooted.

"I don't want you to be a part of this," he muttered back to her hurriedly, one hand still holding out his wand and the other reaching behind him and pressing against her hip, urging her to back away.

"Ah!" Rita exclaimed excitedly, her eyes widening and her mouth spreading into a gleeful smirk at the sight of Ava's appearance over Fred's shoulder. "Whose this lovely young lady?"

"She's nobody," Fred said firmly, and gave Ava a final shove, making her stumble slightly back into the shadowy store.

"_Fred, who has come to be known as a rather bedraggled womanizer, stands protectively in front of his latest bedding partner, a young blonde woman, appearing to be in her early twenties-"_

Fred's temper, hot and sharp, flashed and rose within him, and his grip tightened on his wand as he took another step forward, and then two steps down, until he stood on only the first stair on the stoop. His height towered over the reporter and her chin nearly brushed his chest as she stared up at him, a defiant look on her face.

"Listen to me, and I'm not fucking around this time," Fred growled, staring straight into her squinted green eyes. "You can put whatever you damn well please about me into that rag of yours, but do not—_I repeat, do not_—put anything in there about her." He jabbed his head backwards with the last word, motioning towards Ava, still standing hesitantly before the doorframe. "This is bigger than you, Skeeter, and if you print one word about her, I swear I'll-"

"You'll what?" she interrupted, her eyebrows raised to high heaven as she held her hand out. With another whip-like crack, the parchment and quill hovering beside her floated into her fist and disappeared. "What will you do?" Her high pitched, girlish tone of voice was gone and had been replaced with a low one, now addressing only Fred and ignoring the roaring crowd behind her.

"I will make your life a living hell in unimaginable ways," Fred replied softly, not missing a beat.

Rita stared back at him hard for a moment, and pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. "Is that a threat, Mister Weasley?" she asked rather loudly in a business-like voice.

Fred offered her his signature facial expression: his mouth was hitched up along one side in a cocky, uneven open-mouthed smirk as he leaned down close, bending at the waist until his nose was only a hair's width away from hers.

"Abso-fucking-lutely," he whispered back.

Rita Skeeter blinked several times in surprise as Fred straightened back up, whirling around and stomping back into the store, slamming the double doors behind him.

* * *

"Rita Skeeter? Rita _fucking_ Skeeter?! I can't believe it," Ron said in a breathless voice, slapping his palm to his forehead. "What hole did she slither out of?"

"She is the most vile piece of rubbish I've ever encountered," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Strong statement there, Harry," said Ron, nudging Harry with his elbow and grinning. "The most vile, eh? We had to deal with Umbridge, remember?"

"Aye," said Harry in agreement, raising his glass to clink against Ron's.

Fred had just finished telling the pair about his encounter with the reporter, and he and Ava sat across from the two of them at one of the long wooden tables inside the first level of the Treehouse.

"You're a little quiet," Fred said to Ava, resting his hand on her knee under the table and squeezing it. "What's the matter, don't believe these twos' tales about the bitch?"

"Oh, no, I believe you," replied Ava, her voice low. "I saw it for myself. I have no idea how you survived having her follow you around incessantly for almost a year, Harry."

"Then what's wrong?"

Ava hesitated, looking across the table back and forth between Harry and Ron, and then sheepishly over to Fred.

"I don't know if what you did was such a good idea," she said towards Fred, her voice nearly a whisper and her heart pounding hard in her chest. "You threatened a reporter. That usually only makes them more hungry for the story, am I wrong? It's not that I don't appreciate you protecting me, but-"

"I'll stop you right there," said Fred, squeezing her knee again. "Of course I was protecting you for the sake of it, but you understand the bigger purpose behind that, right? Ava, I can't even begin to fathom the level of high alert fucking Merryweather must be on right now; a group of soldiers attacked us and never came back, and their fearless, slimy leader returned home with third-degree burns to boot." He sighed, staring down at the wood grain of the table top and shaking his head. "The necklace is gone. Gridgeon saw you. You two exchanged bloody words. He'll no doubt be returning to snatch you up again, and he'll be wondering if you're still hanging around George and me." He paused for a second and turned his head to the side to look at her. "I think the last thing we need is a God-forsaken description of you printed in the bloody newspaper disclosing your movements, understand?"

Ava moaned, burying her face in her hands. "I'm a fucking magnet for destruction," she said in a defeated tone, her voice muffled by her hands obscuring her face.

"Don't feel bad about it," Ron said rather cheerfully, reaching forward and patting her arm. "We had to deal with that destruction magnetization radiating off of Harry for what, seven years? You've been around for right about six weeks. Don't worry, you've got a lot of catching up to do before you reach his level."

Harry stomped at his friend's foot under the table amongst Ron's guffaws.

"Don't worry yourself like this thinking about everyone else, please," Fred pleaded, soothingly rubbing his hand up and down her back. "You'll drive yourself mad doing it. We're the Order, this is what we do. Bill wrote me and told me he spent all day Friday setting up extensive protection charms 'round the Burrow, no one's stepping a foot inside there who shouldn't be."

"Right," said Ava, letting her hands fall from her face and smack down to the table top. "How's Luna?"

"She's well, but her shooter is another story," came a deep voice from above them.

They all looked up and over to see Kingsley, robed in banana yellow, descending the spiral staircase and stepping on to the first level, making his way over to them. He looked tired.

"What's dear old Dakota's issue now?" Fred cried out. "And what kind of name is Dakota anyway, really-"

"It's a Native American sub-Sioux tribe," Ava muttered, and the rest of the room went silent to stare at her. She fidgeted in her seat. "What? I used to watch a lot of Jeopardy."

"A lot of what?" Ron asked, his face screwed up in interest, but Kingsley spoke up and interrupted the straying topic.

"Dakota does not want to talk much," Kingsley said, remaining standing. "He feels he's spoken enough. He wants to...get down to business, in his words. He is hungry for Merryweather and is tired of waiting."

"Well he's going to have to take a bloody seat," Fred said, scowling. "His way of doing things is bursting in without a plan, guns blazing, _clearly_, and that's not the way you win."

"If he's really gone rogue and wants to help us take down Merryweather, why won't he give you their location?" Harry asked Kingsley.

"He insists he does not know where it actually is," Kingsley replied. "He tells me he was brought there for work with magic, removed at the end of his shift, with magic, and never actually came to see the outside of the place."

"Convenient," Fred muttered.

The Minister nodded down at him. "That crossed my mind as well, Fred, but I'm afraid he's telling the truth." Everyone looked up at him questioningly, expecting an explanation. "Veritaserum," he said shortly, and they nodded in understanding.

The group of five fell into a short silence before Ava took a deep breath and spoke up.

"I think I have an idea."

* * *

Ten minutes later, a loud crashing noise came from Dakota's room as Harry, Ron, Kingsley, Fred, and Ava neared the Treehouse's third level. Kingsley, leading the way, momentarily froze in his tracks.

"He's breaking things again," he stated simply, and continued his ascent of the stairs.

"Breaking things again?" Ava asked aloud, looking up at Kingsley and Fred ahead of her, who shrugged, and over her shoulder at Harry and Ron.

"Every time he gets angry and impatient—which really is more than normal, the man needs anger management I tell you—he starts smashing everything that's in the room with him," Ron explained. "We've gone through Transfiguring four cots in the time he's been here."

Another crashing sound, accompanied by the clear sound of splintering wood. Ron cringed. "Make it five."

Fred mumbled something unintelligible as the five of them filed into the enclosed porch of the third level and spread themselves out amongst different corners of the room. Dakota, whose back had been facing the doorway with his head hanging and hands resting on his hips as he appeared to pant for breath, whirled around and scanned the inhabitants of the room. His hazel eyes lingered on Ava and Fred last.

"Nice of you to show up!" he nearly yelled, globules of saliva flying out of his mouth and his Texas accent in full swing. His cot lay crumpled on the floor in the middle of the room, one of the legs snapped clean off and rolled away to the side.

"Tell me why you're angry," Ava said softly, folding her arms and leaning her back against one of the sections of wood-paneling against the wall.

"Well aint'chya just the picture of God-given serenity."

"Stop throwing a tantrum," Ava replied in the same even, almost bored-sounding tone of voice. For just a moment, Fred mentally flashed back to her reaction to Gridgeon when they'd seen him at the shop—her anger, her cursing, the hysteria in her voice. It was quite the contradictory reaction than hers now—her neutral face, her even tone. Frankly, Fred realized, there was something about Gridgeon that made Ava lose her shit.

"Don't do that," Dakota replied, shaking his head back and forth, his forehead shiny with a thin balm of sweat. "Don't treat me like I'm havin' a conniption-fit."

"Why are you angry?" she repeated back to him.

He paused for a few seconds, staring at her hard, before finally answering. "Look. I'd heard the rumors. I knew all about you. Why do you reckon I stood there doin' nothin' the whole dang time until I fired my weapon to get your attention?"

"Because you wanted us to take you," she replied simply. "And we did."

"Right, and now I've been sittin' on my ass in here for, what's it been now, over a week? Doin' a whole lot MORE nothin'. We need to get a move on, dont'chya understand?" his voice became increasingly threaded with hysteria as he spoke and he waved his arms wildly, gesturing to the outside world.

"Do you know something?" Fred finally spoke up, staring hard at the soldier with his eyes slightly squinted.

Dakota panted for a few seconds, just staring back at Fred and blinking. "What?"

"Do you know something?" Fred repeated, taking a small step forward. "Is something going to happen soon? You seem awfully urgent to get out there. Ants in your pants?"

"Stick up your ass?" Dakota challenged, and Fred took a second to calm himself before replying.

"We need more information before we make a move."

"I've told _him_-" Dakota pointed towards Kingsley "-everythin' I know! Everythin'! Merryweather was underground. White floors. White walls. Glass cages they kept subjects in we called 'cubes'. _Her_ cube-" he switched to gesturing towards Ava "-was Cube E. I have some sort of...thing, on me, call it a spell if you want, they called a Magnet Trace. They wanted em in, POOF, I was there. They wanted me out, POOF, I was back at my little shithole apartment in Inverness. Wasn't allowed to venture outside the town. That's all I know!"

"Bullocks," Fred spat back, scowling. "We didn't ask for a bloody layout of the place."

"Wait," Ava said, holding her hand up to Fred. She took a step forward, her mouth open and head cocked to the side. "You said I was...Cube E?"

"That's right."

"So...there were other Cubes? A, B, C, and D I'm assuming? There were others?"

Dakota raised his eyebrows and let out a small snigger. "Darlin'," he started, "you were not the first, or the last. Don't take this the wrong way, but you were not that special. As far as Cubes, they went all the way through the alphabet. Twice."

Out of the corner of his eye, Fred saw Ava rising her hands slowly to cover her mouth as she made a small, surprised choking sound. But something else about what Dakota had said was bothering him.

"Hey," he said, and Dakota turned his attention to him. "Did you...were you there? When she was there? Did...did you see her there?" Fred had swung his arm out to point to Ava, but before Dakota could answer, she spoke up first.

"Oh my God," she said, her hands dropping back down to her sides. "Oh my God. I knew I recognized you."

For the first time since Ava had asked Dakota about being a Marine, his face fell slightly. All traces of anger and cockiness melted away as his jaw went slack and his eyes softened.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking straight at her, his voice nearing a whisper. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't want to. You have to know I didn't want to."

"I don't know anything!" Ava exclaimed, and Fred saw her right hand had risen to rest upon the thick pink scar wrapping across her throat. "You cut my hair," she squeaked out rather pathetically.

"I know," Dakota whispered back, and his eyes were shining with moisture. "I'm sorry."

"He...he cut your hair?" Harry asked aloud, and his, Ron's, Kingsley's, and Fred's face all matched with identical expressions of confusion.

Ava stared hard at Dakota for a moment, their eyes locked; his desperate and sincere and hers ablaze with anger.

"We were going to ease you into this and try to be gentle, you know," Ava said to him, "but you know what? Now I'm not sure how much I care. Come on everyone, we're going in. As we discussed."

She held out her left arm, and Kingsley, Harry, Ron, and Fred all stepped forward, joining hands with one another and then ending the chain with Fred grasping hers.

"Excuse me?" Dakota asked, blinking rapidly in panic and taking a small step backwards. "In?"

"In," Ava repeated back to him, stepping ahead to close the space between them, and reached out her right arm. "Let's see how you like having your brain fucking picked at," she growled, and pressed her palm against the side of Dakota's shaved head.

The ground beneath Fred's feet gave an almighty lurch, not much unlike the sensation of Disapparation, before everything went black for a few seconds. Then, a scene came swimming into place: he stood in the middle of a dark room, the floor, walls, and ceiling made of new-looking concrete. A dripping sound echoed in the distance. A singular lamp hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly, and a group of five Merryweather soldiers, in their signature uniforms made of white cargo material, stood in a half-circle, their backs to Fred. They were all chuckling amongst themselves, and egging on another solider, who stood away from them in the center of their crescent shape. He was grinning and somewhat hunched, his arms wobbling slightly as he held on to something down on the ground.

It was Dakota Murray.

"I can't believe I didn't fucking remember him," came Ava's voice from beside Fred, and he jumped in surprise, forgetting that she was still there. He felt Ron jump to his left, and he looked over, his brother, Harry, and Kingsley all looking around the room in a mixture of fascination and confusion.

"You can let go of each other's hands now," Ava said, staring hard at the group of soldiers in front of them.

"Where...where are we?" Ron asked.

"Merryweather," Ava said, taking a step forward and slowly striding towards the other side of the group to face them. "More specifically, in Dakota's memory of it."

The four of them followed her around to the other side, and made similar sputtering noises as they saw what Dakota was bent down and struggling with: it was another Ava, on her knees. Her eyes were wide and wild with fear as Dakota hunched behind her, one arm holding her in a headlock, the other, holding a knife to her throat. Her hands were bound behind her back.

"Come on Murray, you heard what Pidgeon said," one of the soldiers jeered. "Teach her a lesson!"

The others joined in on the encouragement, and the Ava on her knees struggled, attempting to whip her body back and forth, her eyes bulging. The soldiers howled in laughter as she cried out in pain when Dakota crouched, his knee on the back of her calves.

"Stay still, darlin'," he muttered roughly.

It was bizarre, to say the least, to stand beside Ava, her arms folded on her chest and her mouth a thin, tight line, watching her own assault from the very soldier whose mind they were apparently currently inside.

"How long ago was this?" Fred asked quietly.

Ava raised and lowered one shoulder, staring down at herself struggling on the floor. "I couldn't have been at Merryweather for more than a week. So...three and a half years ago." Her fingers absentmindedly started brushing against the scar on her throat.

"Is it true," Dakota said loudly into the struggling Ava's ear, "you spat in one of our brother's faces yesterday?"

She made a sound not much unlike a roar, screeching and twisting her torso side to side. "Let...me...go!" she choked out.

Fred saw Dakota's knuckles turn white as he tightened his grip on the black handle of his knife, and pushed it against Ava's throat harder. Tiny pinpricks of blood sprouted upon the blade, and the soldiers watching laughed.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered aloud, his face pale.

"Is it true?" Dakota roared back, in a sudden scream, and more blood smeared along the blade. Ava made wild gasping sounds as though she'd just broken through water's surface after holding her breath, and Fred could see blood vessels in her eyes exploding, forming splotchy scarlet spots beside her pupils. He looked quickly to his right to observe the current Ava, whose left hand had graduated from brushing the scar to wrapping around it, as though she were holding her head in place against her neck.

"I...just...want...to go...home," the Ava on the floor sobbed, tears beginning to stream down her face and lending on Dakota's forearm. "Please just let me go home!" she sobbed like a child, moaning and gasping among her tears, and she suddenly began choking, entering a coughing fit, more blood exploding on the knife from the force of her breath.

"Say you're sorry," Dakota whispered in her ear roughly, and shook her, hard. "I can't hear youuuuu!" he howled.

A sudden numbness came over Fred's hands, and he realized he'd balled them into tight fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms.

"I'm...sorry..." Ava choked between gasps, her lips turning purple. Blood overflowed on the knife and dribbled down her chest. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head.

"That'll do," Dakota said simply, and released his chokehold on her. She careened forward, barely conscious, about to smack belly-down on the concrete, but he shot his hands out rapidly and caught a thick strand of her blonde hair, severing it close to her scalp. Then, he let her fall, and he held the lock of hair in the air as though it were a prize.

_Ava, facedown on the table after learning of Ryan's death, a section of hair coming from the back of her head shorter than all the others spilling over and brushing against the tabletop._

"_What's this?" Ginny had asked while braiding Ava's hair, tugging at the shorter piece in the back._

"_You cut my hair," Ava had squeaked to Dakota, only minutes earlier._

A door on the far side of the room, bathed in shadow, banged open, and Gridgeon strode in.

"Clean her up and get her back to her Cube, Fletcher," he addressed the only soldier of the group whose uniform was topped off with a long white cape.

The wizard curtly nodded and wedged his boot under Ava's facedown body, turning her over. Her head lolled from side to side, and her eyes fluttered open and closed as more scarlet blood slowly leaked out of the shallow wound on her neck. He withdrew his wand and rested the tip against the cut, muttering something, before the scene began to blur and fade down to black.

A little girl's high-pitched giggling met Fred's ears before the next memory even fully opened. The five of them suddenly found themselves standing on mulch, a playground to their right, the air filled with the sounds of children laughing and screaming. In front of them was a sandbox, where a boy no older than five or six crouched beside a girl who looked right under ten. They both had the same shade of sandy blonde hair and warm, tanned skin.

"I—I don't know what this is," Ava said, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I wanted to see more Merryweather."

She was interrupted by the sound of the little girl giggling again, and the five of them turned their attention to look down to see what her and the boy were doing. Her hands were cupped and in her palms was a grey caterpillar cocoon.

"You shouldn't have taken that off the tree, Taylor," the little boy said in a warning tone of voice. But his face was unmistakably excited; his eyes were wide and trained upon the cocoon in the little girls palms. "Momma's gonna whoop you. She always says leave the cocoons be. Now this one's not gonna become a butterfly."

Taylor was grinning, biting on her bottom lip. "Just watch, Dakota," she said, and she closed her hands around the cocoon and squeezed her eyes shut. The flesh of her bottom lip around her teeth whitened as she bit down hard, her entire face crinkling in concentration.

And then.

Her palms opened slowly, like a flower unfolding its petals, and sitting gently in the center of her cupped palms was a cobalt-blue butterfly. It delicately opened and closed its wings a few times, the iridescent colors catching the sunlight and glinting.

"TAYLOR, HOW'D YA DO THAT?" little Dakota cried, and the butterfly rose into the air, rapidly flitting away from the brother and sister.

"Dakota, you big idiot, you scared it away!" Taylor cried back, frowning. She jumped to her feet and leaned down, shoving her little brother down into the sandbox and leaving him behind as she ran after the fleeing butterfly.

"Sorry," Dakota choked out in a small voice, watching his sister leave. His chin quivered and a single tear ran down his face as he cupped his scraped elbow, hugging it against him.

"Dakota," Ava whispered from beside Fred.

The scene changed again; seemingly melting away and turning to black before they found themselves in another place: the five of them stood in an extremely formal sitting room, elegantly decorated for the holidays. An enormous tree sparkling with twinkle lights and an array of crème and gold ornaments sat in the corner, guarding a mountain of perfectly wrapped gifts. A roaring fire crackled to their right, the mantle decorated with rows upon rows of Christmas cards. And in the center of the room were two antique-style couches facing one another, a clear glass coffee table between them.

On one side sat two middle-aged men, their hair cropped in the same closely shaved style that modern-day Dakota currently sported. They wore dark green suits, the breast pocket area of their jackets displaying different colored badges organized neatly beside one another.

On the other couch was a teenaged girl, her golden-brown hair pushed away from her face with a red velvet headband. Her long, thin legs were tightly crossed over one another and her hazel eyes were wide as she gnawed on the inside of her cheek, clearly anxious. On either side of her sat a man and a woman, presumably her parents, both wearing neat, expensive looking clothes, and identical looks of horror on their faces. Lastly, behind the couch, stood Dakota, hovering in an awkward stage between boyhood and becoming a man. His jaw was already square and thick but his face was still boyish, and his limbs were long and gangly.

"It's really a wonderful program, Mr. and Mrs. Murray," one of the men said, reaching into his pocket and extracting a stack of what appeared to be pamphlets. "Taylor will be getting the best education currently offered in the United States. And lots of wonderful...nurturing, to help her control her...mutation." He placed the pamphlets on the glass coffee table, and slid them towards the family on the opposite side.

He had leaned forward to pass the papers over, and that was when Fred noticed it: a tiny gold pin was attached to the man's jacket lapel, glinting in the fireplace's light. It was a bold, capital M, with a W mirrored below it.

"They're Merryweather," said Harry from his left, clearly noticing the pin as well.

Mrs. Murray hesitantly leaned forward and brought the pamphlets on to her lap as her husband scowled.

"And what if we don't want our daughter goin' to your government school?" he spat, looking back and forth at the soldiers across from him. "And she don't have no mutation. She's perfect the way she is. Just placed first in Miss Teen Texas, in fact. Got a scholarship. Goin' to Texas A&amp;M next fall."

The other man who hadn't spoken yet formed a gentle smile on his face that somehow managed to look threatening, reminding Fred strikingly of Dolores Umbridge.

"Unfortunately, this is not up for discussion, Mr. Murray," he said softly. "Your daughter will be coming with us. It's a government-mandated program."

"Comin' with you?" screeched Mrs. Murray, throwing a protective arm around Taylor's shoulders. "But it's Christmas Eve!"

"Now wait just a second!" her husband yelled, rising to his feet.

Fred couldn't help but notice Taylor turning her head backwards to look up at her younger brother over her shoulder, her face panicked.

"Dakota," she choked out, and her brother reached down to rest his hands on her shoulders, on top of their mother's arm.

"I won't let them take you," he whispered down to her, and she began to cry.

Fred's breath caught in his chest and his stomach suddenly lurched as though he'd taken a nosedive on a broomstick. The floor beneath his feet felt as though it were tipping forward again, and the scene of the frantic family before them faded to black.

And when the group of five found themselves back at the Treehouse, they faced the Marine who had done ugly, ugly things, all in a desperate attempt to infiltrate the organization that had taken his sister eleven years ago.

* * *

The next day, Crater Lake was stiller and more quiet than Fred had ever seen it in his life.

The water of the pond was like a sheet of glass and the air was uncomfortably stagnant as he, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Kingsley, and Ava stood on the grass before the makeshift dock that Dakota stood upon, facing them. They had chosen this place, the sudden lake in the clearing in the forest, because it was directly beyond the line of protective enchantments surrounding the perimeter of the Treehouse. Nothing held Dakota in place. He was no longer their prisoner.

"Remember what I told you about this," said Hermione softly, reaching into a small bag and extracting a silver coin. "Just hold on to it tightly and whisper to it what you'd like to communicate to us. We have its twin. We'll get your messages right away."

Dakota nodded curtly as he reached out and took the coin from Hermione, bringing it up close to his face to study it for a moment.

"Dakota..." Ava said gently, licking her lips. "We're going to find Taylor for you. Okay? Look at me."

Dakota stared at the coin hard for a second before sighing heavily and shoving it in his pocket, and finally bringing his gaze up to look across at her.

"We're going to find her," Ava repeated.

He stayed silent for a few moments before answering. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low. "About what I did to you."

"I know you are."

"I was just puttin' on a show, I swear it, I had to make 'em trust me-"

"I know." Ava's voice was firm but even, and she gave him a single nod. Fred reached out and slipped his hand into hers.

"I feel uneasy doing this, Dakota Murray," said Kingsley suddenly, straightening up and raising his chin. "You realize, that we are trusting you."

"One day," said Fred softly, staring pointedly at Dakota, "you go without communicating with us for one day, and we'll assume you've betrayed us. You understand, yeah?"

"I understand."

"And please," Fred continued, his voice taking on a sudden pleading tone with the soldier, "if you're around Gridgeon...if you speak with him...bring me and George up in conversation. See what he knows. I thought I recognized him before, and so did my brother, but we weren't completely sure..." he trailed off for a second, shaking his head. "After I saw him in that memory...walking out of the shadows...I dunno, something's clicking, but I don't know what it is. I know him, I know I do. Can you find out how?"

"I'll do what I can," Dakota replied, and he and Fred nodded at one another, a newfound hint of respect between them.

Kingsley reached down his sleeve and pulled out his wand, taking a few steps forward.

"I'm going to remove our cloaking spell from you now," said Kingsley. "You believe Merryweather will summon you?"

"Oh I know they will," he said, nodding vigorously. "I've felt it the entire time I've been here with y'all. Like I'm bein' pulled in one direction but forced to stay in another. They want me back."

"Which reminds me...one last thing." Kingsley looked over his shoulder and nodded to Hermione, who stepped forward with her wand.

"_Revelin, Frommoculus,_" she whispered, waving her wand before Dakota's face. His unmarred skin, slightly damp with sweat and covered in stubble, suddenly blossomed with bruises. His lower lip became fat, a cut splitting it right down the middle, and his eyes were swollen and purple. His hands rose to his face, patting the false injuries gingerly.

"Wouldn't exactly be believable that you fought your way back without an actual fight, eh?" Fred asked, and Dakota released a small, nervous laugh.

"I'll message you everyday," her promised, making his fist around his pocket where the coin rested.

Fred nodded back to him. "I count on it."

Their eyes stayed locked on one another's as Kingsley began chanting, slowly at first, then becoming more and more rapid as light began to grow from the end of his wand. It ended in a blinding flash, making the others shield their eyes before it faded away.

For a second, nothing happened. He remained standing on the dock, rocking back on forth on his heels slightly, his head hanging and staring hard at the wood pallet beneath his boots. And then, with no warning and nothing but a sudden popping sound, Dakota Murray vanished, his prediction about Merryweather's instantaneous summoning proving true.

No one said anything. The dock hadn't even shifted, and everything was quiet in Dakota's wake. He'd left behind an echo of sorts; an invisible thing that hung in the air and reminded them of what they'd just done, what they'd just allowed, the risk they'd just taken.

The air remained stagnant and the lake remained still, and even then, the silence was deafening. The group remained frozen, their hair standing on end as they felt the echo traveling between them that Dakota's sudden lack of presence had left, leaving the six of them to look back and forth at one another with silent hope, praying that they'd done the right thing.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Fred and George really are quite insistent with the fact that they know Gridgeon from somewhere, aren't they? Are they completely crazy, or are they on to something? I think it's about time I revealed that part of the mystery, what do you think? Stay tuned...**


	24. Chapter 24--Coward

Chapter 24—Coward

**Fred Weasley: Not _JOKING_ Around**

**The exclusive interview with the witch who spent one terrifying night with the horrific beast between the sheets**

Four days after Fred's run-in with Rita Skeeter, it was obvious the reporter had wasted no time exacting her revenge. It was through the method she knew all too well—slander in the Prophet.

"Well?" asked Lee, standing over the table at The Three Broomsticks and looking down at Fred and Ava rather excitedly. The three of them were waiting on George, who'd finally returned from his and Angelina's honeymoon. Lee had nearly sprinted in the pub, newspaper in fist, scanning the lunch time crowd rapidly until he found Fred and Ava seated in a corner booth. He'd bounded over to the pair and slapped down that morning's copy of the Prophet on the table, and was now staring down at the two with an enormous grin on his face.

With her necklace gone, Ava sat across from Fred draped in a thick black cloak, the wide hood pulled up and framing her face. She tilted her mug of ice-cold Butterbeer to her mouth while her eyes scanned the headline. Upon finishing, they immediately bulged out of her head and she made a choking noise, setting her drink down on the table clumsily as she sputtered and gasped for breath.

"Hey there, watch the merchandise!" Lee cried out, dancing to the side to avoid the outburst of Butterbeer that had exploded from Ava's coughing mouth. He rubbed his hands across his shirt hurriedly, wiping the foamy drink away from the fabric, and settled down in the booth beside Fred, frowning and studying his clothes.

Fred was leaning across the table, thumping Ava firmly on her back as she continued choking on her drink.

"What...the fuck?" she gasped, holding a hand to her chest. Some blonde hair that had been poking out the front of her hood was dripping, and she held up her free hand to signal Fred to stop. He sat back in his seat and pulled the paper towards him.

"Why the hell do you look so excited about this?" Ava asked Lee, her voice still hoarse, squeezing her wet hair into a napkin.

"Because our boy's a celebrity!" he exclaimed, proudly clapping Fred on the shoulder and shaking him violently. "Second Prophet headline in a week. We'll have to hang this one, Fred, get a nice gilded frame, all fancy-like and mount this puppy right behind the register at the shop for all the world to see-"

"Agreed," murmured Fred, his head hanging and nodding as he continued reading the article.

A moment of stunned silence passed between the trio as Ava looked back and forth at the boys incredulously.

"Fred," she said, picking up the newspaper to face him and shaking it a bit. She could hear him laughing softly amid the rustling noise the pages were making. "What the hell is so funny? This is...this is slander! This is-"

"Rubbish," said Fred lightly, plucking the paper from her hand and smoothing it out on the tabletop again. "Utter and complete rubbish. Skeeter's a joke and everyone knows it, I'm not worried."

"What does the article say?" Ava asked, her voice suddenly threaded with curiosity and peering down at the Prophet.

"See for yourself," Fred replied, and turned it around to face her, pushing it across the table.

Fred and Lee watched in amusement as her green eyes scanned back and forth rapidly, her forehead crinkled together with lines of worry and confusion.

"_'Our lovely informant, a statuesque brunette who wishes to remain anonymous, recalls the night from this past winter that she spent with Fred Weasley, co-owner of Diagon Alley's Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_'," Ava read aloud softly. "'_The night was going so well,' she says, a faraway look in her sparkling blue eyes, 'We were having a wonderful time. We had gone on several dates already and were absolutely entangled in one another's charms.'_" Ava paused in her reading to look over the top of the paper. Fred and Lee were clutching one another, both absolutely shaking with laughter.

She raised a single eyebrow. "'Entangled in one another's charms'?" she asked in a tone of voice that blended disbelief and disgust.

"Keep...going," Lee choked out.

Ava sighed and continued reading. "_'I normally don't go home with men until we are at least several months in the courting process, but that night, the wind was cold and the drinks were strong. It was the perfect storm_'."

"That's my favorite part!" Lee exclaimed, slapping his palms down on the table, making the mugs of Butterbeer rattle in their places. "To the perfect storm!" he proclaimed in a toast, raising Ava's mug up for her. Fred chuckled and raised his own, clinking in a cheers.

The boys lowered their mugs to see Ava placing the Prophet back down on the table in a rather delicate manner, as though she was touching something foul.

"Aw, come on, it was just getting good!" Lee whined, but Fred's amused smile was faltering as he looked at Ava across the table. She looked like she'd just swallowed sour milk.

"Don't be upset," he said softly, touching her forearm. "It's the gossip column of the paper. They print this kind of rubbish all the time. I mean, really," he said, tapping the photograph under his headline. It showed Fred wearing striped pajamas, standing in front of what looked like a garden and staring forlornly out into the distance. His feet shifted back and forth uncomfortably as though he wasn't comfortable standing, and his hair was longer than normal and mussed, with dark circles around his eyes. The caption read, _'Fred Weasley emerges from his home and confronts the blinding light of day, clearly out of sorts, after yet another long night of drinking and merriment with a female companion'. _"This picture is three and a half years old, Ava. It's from the day I got released from St. Mungoes. You see my knees knocking together, I wasn't even walking right yet!"

"So then what's the rest of the article about?" she asked, looking back and forth between him and Lee.

Fred took another sip from his drink and placed the mug directly down on the paper, over the photograph. Condensation dribbled down the sides and formed a splotchy ring of moisture on the moving picture. "The _statuesque brunette_ claims I took her home with the intentions of sleeping with her, but stopped halfway through the deed and began crying and breaking things."

"You're joking, right?"

"I'm not. Claims I had a nervous breakdown and asked her to...what was it?" he murmured, trailing off and scanning the article again. "Ah. Yes. I asked her to _'just hold me'_, and sobbed to her in my pathetic naked form, before I apparently sprang to my feet and began destroying things and putting my fists through walls."

"Stop it," Lee wheezed, tears streaming down his face and beating the table with his fists. "I'm going to piss my pants. It's too good!"

"Lee," Fred muttered, his eyes still trained across from him on Ava, who remained visibly uncomfortable. But Lee was relentless.

"Also, can we talk about that bloody headline?!" he cried out, grinning and shaking his head. "'_The beast between the sheets'_? I dunno about you Freddie, but if that were me I'd take that as a compliment-"

"Lee," Fred repeated, louder and more forcefully this time. Lee quieted, looking slightly startled as Fred shoved a hand in his pocket, extracting a few Sickles and shoving them into his friend's hand. "Why don't you go get yourself a drink, eh? On me, go ahead."

Lee looked back and forth between Fred and Ava, and opened his mouth to reply.

"Now," Fred said, and stomped on his friend's foot under the table.

Lee let out a pathetic yelp and slid to the end of the booth, scrambling to his feet and hurrying off to wade through the crowd huddled around the bar.

It was silent between Fred and Ava for a few moments as he looked across at her, and she avoided his eyes, concentrating hard on the wood grain of the table.

"Well," Fred started quietly, "are you going to ask me, or not?"

"Ask you what?" she muttered back still avoiding his gaze.

"If it's true."

"Is it?" she finally looked up and met his eyes, and as soon as the question escaped her mouth, a shadow of regret passed over her face. She blushed.

"That...that was asinine of me, I'm sorry Fred...of course...of course it's not true..." Ava fought to regain her composure, but was shifting around in her seat all of a sudden as though the bench had suddenly become uncomfortable.

Fred's mouth felt rather dry, but he raised and lowered one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "It's alright. It's a fair question, I suppose. For the record though, it's a complete fabrication."

"I'm—I'm sorry...really, I am Fred, I shouldn't have had to ask-"

"It's fine."

"It's just...when you said the article described you putting your fists through walls..." she trailed off again and stared across at him desperately.

Under the table, Fred's hands twisted together on his lap as he realized what she was implying. Every time he blinked he saw it; the ugly stone wall, flickering with torchlight in the empty corridor as he'd stared up at it, George and Ava's voices echoing down to him and begging him to stop as he'd punched it over and over and over, scarlet blood smearing-

He flexed his fingers a few times, the memory of his injuries from just over two weeks ago still fresh, phantom pain radiating across his palms.

"Well, I don't go punching walls _every_ time I'm upset," he teased, offering her a small smile as she hung her head in embarrassment. "But it's not just this one," he continued, tapping the edge of the article. She looked up at him. "You were there the other day, you heard what she was writing about me then, too. _'Fred Weasley, who has come to be known as a rather bedraggled womanizer'_...come on, I know you heard it."

"You forgot the part about how you were standing in front of me protectively, your LATEST bedding partner," she murmured, a grin slowly winning over her face.

He chuckled. "Right. Look, I'll have a good laugh at Skeeter any day, but you can't tell me it doesn't bother you that the bloke you're with has bloody newspaper articles written about the goings-on of his loins. I know it does, it was written all over your face."

"I'm not embarrassed of you, Fred," she said softly.

Fred brought his hands up to the table top and gently pressed them on top of hers, completely encompassing them. "I know."

"Everyone has a past," she continued, turning her hands over under his so they were palm-to-palm. Their fingers threaded together. "Everyone has done things they're not so proud of. Just think if Skeeter got a hold of my story...headline would read, 'Girl makes a break for it and leaves friends for dead'...she'd probably go and nickname me 'The Promise Breaker' or something."

Fred snorted. "At least you're not a _bedraggled_ whore. The fuck kind of word is that, anyway?"

She giggled back at him. "Hey, don't get me wrong...I've had a couple boyfriends...some bedraggled escapades have been had..."

"But nothing note-worthy enough to end up in the local newspaper," he said, sighing exaggeratedly and pulling one of his hands up to his face, studying his fingernails as though he was rather impressed with himself.

They burst into laughter together, their faces screwed up tightly and eyes scrunched closed as they shook.

"Look who I found!"

At the sound of Lee's voice, they peeled their eyes open.

"_Gah_!" Fred gasped, the wide laughing grin disappearing off of his face. He jumped and leaned backwards in his seat slightly, as though he was terrified.

"Stop it, you wanker...it's not THAT bad."

A very pink George stood beside Lee, both of them clutching cold mugs of Butterbeer, George's eyebrows raised to his hairline.

"Bloody hell, you look like a boiled lobster!" Fred exclaimed, his face still aghast at the sight of his twin.

George scowled, clearly disgruntled as Lee covered his mouth with his hand and bowed his head beside him to muffle yet another onslaught of laughter.

"It's not that bad!" George repeated, holding his arms out to his sides. "It's not! Ava?"

Her lower lip—her entire bottom jaw, really—was quivering as she fought her hardest to keep a straight face, her eyes filling with tears. "It's...nice. I've always loved...magenta!" the last word came out as an exclamation as she was unable to contain her laughter any longer, banging her fist down on the table as she cracked up.

"In my defense," George began, looking down at her and his twin, "I've never had to use sunblock before. And when I did, I barely used the stuff anyway...it's disgusting it is, slathering that Muggle potion all up and down your body-"

"What the-"

"Shit!"

"Oh for the love of all things holy!"

George and Lee nearly toppled over, their fresh drinks crashing to the floor and shattering, spraying their feet with Butterbeer.

"What the hell was that?" Fred asked, standing up in his seat and scanning the surrounding crowd, frowning.

A child's giggles filled the air to answer him, and George and Lee were jostled again.

"Oi!" George exclaimed, whirling around. "Watch where you're going!"

Ava now rose from her seat as well, and they stepped out of their booth to stand beside George and Lee. Before them, the pub's crowd had parted slightly to make room for two boys, no older than eleven or twelve. They stood across from one another, circling and staring each other down as though they were dueling, although no wands were to be seen.

"Sorry," the boy closest to them said over his shoulder hurriedly.

His friend took his brief lack in attention as his chance, and hurled his arm forward, opening his palm as he did so. Ava squinted in curiosity; he'd reminded her of a Pitcher in the game of baseball, and something else that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Small pellet-like objects about the size of marbles came sailing through the air from his hand, and pelted his friend one by one, exploding in tiny clouds of mist. The group of witches and wizards standing around encircling them egged them on, clutching their drinks and watching in amusement.

"Argh! Ouch, ouch!" he cried out, but his complaints still had a playful tone to them as he danced around, his back to the twins, Lee, and Ava. "You'll pay for that!" he threatened his friend, and plunged his hand in his pocket.

The smell of pepper filled the air.

As though they were catapulted, Fred and George suddenly shot forward, so quickly they looked like nothing but streaks of ginger hair. They made a quick sprint up to the open circle in the crowd, and Fred grabbed the arm of the boy closest to them who was rummaging in his pockets. He whirled on his heel clumsily to face him and kneeled in front of him to be at eye level. Ava's stomach dropped at the sight of Fred's face; it was pale and frantic.

"Give me those, you little shit!" George yelled from across the open space, tugging something out of the other boy's hand.

His round face turned beet red. "What are you playing at, you like to steal candy from babies too?" he called out to George, but George ignored him, cradling whatever he had taken from the boy in his palms and jogging forward to stand beside his kneeling twin.

Fred's other hand came up to hold on to the boy's other arm, pinning them both at his sides.

"Where did you get those?" he asked the boy, shaking him a little.

As the boy sputtered in surprise and froze, Ava realized what George was holding in his palms: a small pile of the marble-sized balls that the round-faced boy had pelted his friend with. They were made of a dark grey metal but looked quite light.

"Where did you get those?!" Fred repeated, this time in a shout. He shook the boy again, so hard his head whipped forward and backward a little.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" cried a female voice. A witch came pushing through the crowd, her jaw dropped open in outrage and her dark eyes trained on Fred and George. "That's my son! Let go of my son!"

"Tell me!" Fred shouted, and released the boy, jumping to his feet and panting in what appeared to be rage. He reached out and took one of the little metal balls from George's palms and cast it upon the floor of the pub, hard. White mist floated into the air in a puff as it exploded.

The smell hit Ava's nose again, making her eyes water, and she felt the crowd surging around her collectively flinching as they smelled it too. That's when it clicked. The thing that had stirred her memory as the boy launched the ball at the other, the sharp and spicy smell in the air, Fred and George's identical panic.

"_Run!" she'd screamed to Fred in the alley._

"_Watch out!" he yelled back._

_The air was filled with the whip-like whizzing sound of something coming through the air towards her, and all she felt was the heat. The prickling, burning heat, so hot it almost felt cold, searing the skin of her back right off and filling the air with peppery smoke. The last thing she smelled before blacking out._

"What in God's name do you think you're doing, they're just boys playing around!" the witch screamed at the twins, standing beside the boy Fred had released and throwing a protective arm over her son's shoulders.

"Where are these from?" George pleaded, looking down at the boy and holding the metal balls out.

"Why does it matter where he gets his toys from-"

"I'm sorry, alright?" the boy cried out, interrupting his mother, his face hard as he stared back up at the twins. "I knew they weren't allowed at Hogwarts, Filch hates them, I thought we could play with them here. They barely do any damage, promise, they just sting a bit!"

"I seen someone's eyebrow singed off!" guffawed his friend from across the circle.

"What are they?" Fred asked, his tone noticeably softer but grave.

The boy let his hands rise and fall, clapping on the sides of his legs. "They're Acid Bombs. And I bought them from Zonko's. Zonko's joke shop."

George's hands seemingly fell open in shock, and the pile of Acid Bombs gently rolled across the floor.

"Oh my fucking God," Lee breathed next to Ava.

She turned her head to look at him. "What-" she began, but Lee had already reached over and roughly taken hold of her hand. He yanked on it, nearly making her topple to the side, until he broke out in a sprint and yanked again, tugging her along with him. The pub's crowd collectively gasped and cursed, stumbling around as Fred and George pushed through alongside them, heading to the front door.

It swung open with a slam and stunning white sunshine flooded Ava's vision. She ran behind Lee blindly for a few steps, blinking the fuzzy spots out of her eyes and trying not to trip over her long cloak.

"What's going on?" she cried out breathlessly, finally raising her eyes. The twins were already considerably in the lead, powering alongside one another up ahead and fighting against the walking traffic of Hogsmeade.

"No time to explain!" Lee yelled back, and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. "Come on, let's catch up!"

Ava grimaced while attempting to elongate her stride at the feeling of Lee's hand tightly yanking on her own. The sensation brought back the memory of the scabs from her knuckles ripping open; the smell of the forest and Fred's hand stained with her blood.

"Fred! George! Wait!" Lee panted, him and Ava weaving around the sea of people casually strolling down the main street.

"Come on, it's right on the corner here!" George yelled back, looking over his shoulder for a second.

"What's...on...the fucking...corner?!" Ava growled to Lee, whipping her hand free from his but continuing to run alongside him.

Lee's face was pained and he was using his now-free hand to clutch at his ribs. He licked his lips hurriedly.

"Zonko's," he gasped, and jutted his chin out to point to the building on the corner that they approached closer and closer with every bound. It was, much like Fred and George's shop in Diagon Alley, pretty hard to miss—the outside was painted in thick stripes of lime green and black, and an enormous illuminated Z spun slowly above the door.

Lee and Ava were only a second behind the twins as they crashed through the entrance of the shop, their wands already out.

"Here we go!" Lee exclaimed, and caught the door swinging towards them that Fred and George had just sailed through.

The twins stood beside each other breathlessly, their hair wild and foreheads shining with sweat. The dozen or so patrons that had been meandering around the shop had frozen among the sudden commotion, staring at the Weasley boys with their mouths slightly agape, their hands still holding products they were considering.

It seemed as though everyone was afraid to move, or make a sound louder than breathing. Ava and Lee stood behind the twins, Lee's hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath, and Fred and George exchanged glances out of the corners of their eyes, unsure of what to do next. They simply stood in the center of the moderately sized, circular sales floor bathed in lime green light, wands raised and chests heaving from their sprint. They'd more or less read each others' minds to head to Zonko's, but now that they were there, they weren't quite sure what to do next. They hadn't thought that far ahead.

Right on cue, the door in the wall directly behind the check-out counter opened with a creaking noise, and a grey-bearded man came strolling out, a stack of rectangular boxes in his arms. He was a man the twins knew well, idolized even. His name was Rudolph Zonko, and he'd taught them everything they knew about inventing joke products.

A merry whistle was coming from his lips as he stepped towards the desk, but as he looked up and observed the scene before him, the tune came to a sudden stop. He stumbled in place, nearly dropping the stack of boxes, and his eyes widened as they realized the twins.

Zonko's mouth opened, and then closed, as though he couldn't quite find the words to say.

"Boys," he finally sputtered, nodding in Fred and George's direction.

Fred and George continued staring back, breathing hard but saying nothing, and Zonko exploded in a panic.

He threw the pile of boxes away from him, towards the twins, and reached into his robes for his wand.

"_Stupefy!_" Fred cried out, brandishing his wand.

Zonko pointed his own to the enormous jar of color-changing gumballs resting upon the counter, which shot into the air to intercept Fred's spell. The clear glass shattered and the room was showered with gumballs. The patrons, a few of them screaming, dropped their baskets and ran out the front door, pushing past the twins, Lee, and Ava.

"Someone get Magical Law Enforcement in there!" one of them cried as he sprinted out into the village street.

"Boys...boys...stop this! Stop this! You're—you're like sons to me!" Zonko screamed, his voice shaking and hysterical. He sent another jar of products whizzing towards the twins, leaving it's place on the shelf as he ducked behind the desk, covering his bald head with his free hand. The jar was shattered mid-air just like the other, this time by George, and cheery yellow rubber duckies rained down upon the store. As soon as they made contact with the floor, they all transformed into real-life, plump geese, honking as they Transfigured one by one.

One of the geese lowered its head and charged towards Lee, hissing loudly. Lee yelped and aimed a kick at its feathered body, but before his foot could make contact with the bird, it transformed back into a rubber duckie with an obnoxious quacking noise.

"I hate these things!" he roared, taking a running start and winding his leg up behind him to punt another one. "I'm going to make you my Christmas dinner, bitch!"

"We're not your bloody sons!" Fred shouted, sending another Stunning spell towards the cowering shop owner.

The top of Zonko's head disappeared behind the counter as he ducked again.

"Please!" he screamed back, sounding more frenzied than ever. "I know you're here about the boy! I can explain!"

Fred and George stepped forward and split apart, George stomping around the right side of the desk and Fred, the left. They crouched for a moment and then re-appeared standing, each of them holding one of Zonko's ears in their hand.

"Start explaining," Fred snarled, and together, he and George frog-marched the old man over to a black-painted, wooden chair against one of the rounded walls of the display floor. They shoved him down into it and its legs scraped against the floor slightly from the force.

"What the fuck are _these_, and why do they remind us oh-so-strikingly of a much larger and deadlier version that we saw used on _her_?!" George demanded, holding up a handful of the child's Acid Bombs with one hand and intending to jab his index finger across the room to Ava with the other, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Zonko didn't answer, just stared at the small metal spheres resting in George's palm with wide eyes, his jaw open and eyebrows furrowed.

"That sounds a lot like silence!" Fred spat, raising his wand.

"Alright...alright!" Zonko cried, holding his hands up with his palms forward in a surrendering pose, looking up at the twins with a terrified look on his face. "I'll tell you what you want to know."

A long moment of silence passed; Fred and George standing threateningly over the chair, glaring down at their once-beloved mentor, Lee standing closely beside them, attempting to look threatening and inquisitorial as well but failing to hide the fear in his eyes as he watched the remaining geese milling about the shop.

Rudolph Zonko was old and currently immensely fearful, but he was also quick and equally terribly quick-witted. He was the founder of the wizarding world's oldest joke shop, after all.

"Sorry boys, but I have a prior appointment," he said while shooting his right arm in the air. Before the twins could say or do anything, his hand wrapped around a cord dangling above his head, and with a swift yank on it, the floor beneath the chair parted down the middle and both he and the chair dropped through it, into a hole of immeasurable depth and made of utter blackness.

The twins and Lee chorused in disbelieving gasps and jumped forward, staring hard down the hole.

"_Stupefy! Stupefy! Accio Rudolph Zonko! _Shit!" Fred screamed, sending different colored jets of light down the pit, all of which instantly became swallowed by its suffocating darkness. With his last exclamation of the curse word, Fred spun on his heel and chucked his wand across the shop. It bounced off of the opposite wall and rolled across the floor back towards him, just as the hole in the ground made a vacuum-type sound and sealed closed again.

"Oh, what the fuck?!" George cried out from behind his fuming back.

Fred turned around to see his twin pointing to a square sign mounted on the wall above the spot where the chair had been.

**EASY ESCAPE CHAIR**

**Never be forced to "sit through" much of anything again!**

**UNTRACEABLE! UN-CHASEABLE! UNBELIEVABLE!**

**(200 Galleons, see front desk for special order)**

Fred stared up at the product display comically dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open and eyes blank.

"Ah, yeah, I've always wanted one of these for the shop," Lee muttered, scratching his chin and nodding slowly as though he was considering a business deal. "Every time a customer comes over whining just have a sit and disappear down an untraceable rabbit hole..."

"What—what the fuck?!" George exclaimed again, letting his arms rise and fall hopelessly. "Of all the chairs we could've sat him in, we sit him in his famous Easy Escape Chair? What were we thinking?"

"It was the first chair we saw," Fred grumbled, leaning down to pick up his wand. "We didn't know it was an Easy Escape."

"The man's kind of brilliant," Lee mused.

"He's a fucking coward, Lee!" Fred snapped, nearly shouting. His best friend slightly recoiled at his rage. "And I can't believe we ever idolized him. All the time we spent talking to him, spent in this fucking shop. He's a coward."

The last word had a stale, final tone to it, like it had been shoved inside an envelope and sealed shut. It was silent after that, and Fred continued glaring at the empty spot where the chair had been as Lee hung his head and ground his heel into the floor sheepishly.

George suddenly perked up a bit, furrowing his eyebrows and squinting across the store. "Ava? Are you in there?"

Fred was hit with the sudden realization that in the heat of the moment, he'd forgotten all about her. The rage melted from his face and he whirled around frantically, scanning the store in the direction George was staring at.

An enormous, bathtub-sized cauldron (BUBBLE, BUBBLE, TOIL, AND...DID SOMEONE SAY, "TROUBLE"? Introducing the No-Crime Cauldron! Have a soak inside and WASH AWAY any and all feelings of guilt!) on the opposite side of the store emitted a light scraping noise, and slowly, Ava rose to her feet from the inside, the wide mouth still covering her up to her knees. All three boys were silent at the sight of her; her cloak hood had apparently slipped off, leaving her long blonde hair covered in a sticky layer of crushed gumballs. A plump goose was clamped in her arms.

"Argh!" she yelped as it turned back into a rubber duckie with a quack, leaving her arms empty as it clattered to the bottom of the cauldron around her feet.

She was breathing heavily as she looked back and forth between Lee, Fred, and George.

"Can someone tell me what the HELL is going on?!"

All three boys, familiar with the disastrous events a woman's rage could prompt, recoiled a little at the sound of her shriek.

Ava suddenly made an unpleasant face and reached down her shirt, evidently rummaging around in her bra for a moment before extracting her hand, revealing an impressive amount of crushed gumballs.

"She's yours, this one's all you, mate," George whispered from over Fred's shoulder, sniggering.

Fred sighed and walked forward, extending his arms when he reached the cauldron. Ava eyed them grumpily for a second before taking them, gripping them for balance as she climbed out, bits of candy falling to the ground as she moved.

"When did you go in there?" Fred asked as innocently as he could.

"I dove in when it started raining rubber duckies that were transforming into very pissed off pond-fowl," she retorted, crossing her arms. "A friendly reminder to all of you," she paused for a moment to look from Fred, to George, to Lee, her venomous glare making them cringe again, "that I can't do magic. If we're going to have more of these joke-shop showdowns, give me a heads-up first, yeah?"

"Got it," they collectively mumbled.

She sighed, visibly calming down, and finally spoke in a softer tone of voice. "Now...can you tell me what's going on?"

Fred met her eyes for a moment, but then tore away his gaze to stare at something over her shoulder. She looked along with him, and found he was staring hard at a thin stairway at the back of the store that went through the floor itself, disappearing into some kind of lower level.

"Ava," he said softly, not moving his eyes from the stairway, "this is where we know Gridgeon from."

* * *

_Six years ago_

_Hogsmeade Village_

"I think my feet are officially done for," Fred proclaimed, his voice muffled by the thick Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck and face, his head bowed against the wind. "Screw the Extendable Ears, George, I'm going to need new toes."

Hogsmeade village was coated in a thick blanket of snow that, although appeared charming, was seeping into every vulnerable hole in Fred's secondhand shoes, soaking through his socks and leaving his feet numb.

"Yeah, likewise," George responded, nodding and making the pom-pom atop his knitted hat bounce back and forth. "Or we can just curse them off. Replace them with new and improved feet."

"Removing body parts and replacing them with magical ones, eh?" Fred retorted. "Taking a page out of Moody's book?"

"Absolutely. Like his eye, they'll be dark wizard-finding feet."

"How will they work?" Fred asked, grinning behind his scarf at his and George's banter among the miserable cold.

"They'll make us aim a kick and get shoved up the ass of the first dark wizard we find."

The twins chuckled amongst themselves as they neared Zonko's, the enormous illuminated Z at the front of the building covered in icicles that stayed put even as it spun.

"Think Rudy's got anything for frostbitten feetsies?" George asked Fred over his shoulder as he reached for the front door handle.

"Only thing I can think of is his Cold Feet Socks," Fred responded, stepping into the crowded store behind George and pulling off his wool hat. He shook his head back and forth like a dog, showering the surrounding patrons with bits of snow, and ignored their outcries. "Those are the ones made for Grooms on their wedding day. They're labeled to give the wearer courage but they really just set your feet on fire."

"Rudy's a fucking genius," George said, talking over his shoulder again as they pushed through the crowd towards the front desk.

"A savant!"

"A saint!"

"An inspiration!"

"BOYS!" the very voice of their conversation subject matter boomed over the loud hum of the crowd. Rudolph Zonko was leaning forward eagerly over the check out counter, his eyes trained on the twins.

"Afternoon, Z," George said, smoothly stepping in front of the next patron in line waiting for check-out.

"Hey!" growled the tall Slytherin boy with an unusually square forehead. "I was here first!"

"Piss off, Pucey, go sob into your Mum's arms about it!" Fred said cheerily, sliding in beside George.

Pucey's face reddened. "That was _one time_, Weasley, and I was leaving Mum for school for the first time since me Dad died!"

"Mhm, right, nice talking to you Pucey, bye bye then!"

The Slytherin boy glared for a moment as though he was deciding whether or not he wanted to respond before stomping off.

Zonko was shaking his head, but he wore a large grin. "You boys are relentless."

"Thank you," George said sincerely, touching a hand to his heart. He and Fred leaned across the desk until their foreheads nearly touched Zonko's.

"You still have that new product you promised for us, don't you, Z?" Fred whispered, a devilish smile on his face as he wiggled his eyebrows.

Zonko smirked back. "'Course I do. You boys can have it, special price, pre-release! Just make sure-"

"We tell everyone where we got it, we know," the twins chorused together.

The joke shop owner nodded to the both of them, his eyes shining with excitement. "Alright then, be right back!" He turned on his heel and enthusiastically pushed past all of his patrons milling about, calling out an "excuse me!" or "pardon me!" every few seconds before he disappeared down the staircase at the back of the store.

"Where's Hermione's meeting at, again?" George asked, casually looking around the store at the crowd of fellow students out on their weekend Hogsmeade visit.

"Hog's Head."

"Excellent!" George cried, rubbing his hands together. "Some firewhiskey's sure to warm us up, George, you know they never care about our age, just as long as we have plenty of metal in our pockets."

"Kind of a weird spot for Hermione to choose though, isn't it?" George asked, leaning against the counter. "I don't really take her for the Hog's Head type."

"Well she did say it was technically Harry's meeting," Fred responded, shrugging. "But she's just in charge of it, of course."

"Of course. Think we'll get there on time?"

"We better, or you know she'll pitch a fit," Fred said sniggering. He suddenly sprang up, standing tall from his slouch and made an angry face, puffing his chest out. _"You two are unbelievable!"_ he cried in his best imitation of Hermione, slapping his wrist where an invisible wristwatch would be. _"Unbelievable! Completely mad! I asked you to be here four minutes ago! Four! Do either of you know what it means to adhere to a strict schedule? Do you two take anything seriously! Maybe I'll write to your mother about this!"_

The twins were nearly doubled over in laughter when Zonko reappeared at the desk, an oblong box in his arms.

"Here we are, boys!" he whispered excitedly, setting the box down on the counter top and lifting the cover. "The Tickler." He gazed down at the lethal-looking metal object the way a father would beam at his newborn child. "These parts here," he said, gesturing to the spider-leg-like metal appendages sticking out from the center, "extend and clamp to hold a person down. And these ones here," he tapped a couple more of the products' arms, which had what looked like five metal fingers on the ends, "do the tickling. You can program it to go for ribs, underarms, belly, feet, buttocks even!"

"Wicked," the twins chorused together, staring down at the product with wide eyes.

Zonko straightened up with somewhat of a smug smile. "I'll be selling it next month for ten Galleons and a Sickle, but for you two? Eight Galleons and a sickle."

"Seven Galleons flat and you've got yourself a deal," Fred retorted.

Zonko smiled wider. "Deal. Let me just wrap this—damn! I've run out of bags! One second boys!" he spun on his heel and threw open the door leading to storage behind the register, letting it slam behind him.

Fred and George bent over the counter again, studying The Tickler closely and whispering excitedly when an unfamiliar voice addressed them.

"The Tickler? Where'd you get that from?"

The twins straightened up to identical heights to see a boy standing where Zonko had just been on the other side of the counter. He was just maybe a few years older than them but had a certain look about him that inappropriately aged him, made him look worn. There were dark circles under his brown eyes and he had greasy looking, liver colored hair pulled down to the nape of his neck in an untidy ponytail. His face was pointed, exaggeratedly so; his nose so long and downwardly sloped it reached the same outward peak as his triangular chin. It reminded the twins of the face of some sort of vermin; an opossum, or perhaps a rat.

"We got it from The Man himself," George said, frowning slightly and sizing up the incredibly short boy. "Special order. Problem?"

"No, no, it's no problem, it's just I—_he_ wanted more time to perfect it before it hit the shelves. At least that's what he told me," he said hurriedly, scowling down at the metal object nestled in the box.

"Seems ready enough to me!" Fred said, lifting it up and holding it to the light. "George, we need to toss this in Umbridge's office and let it have its way with her, where do you think she's most ticklish?"

George opened his mouth to respond, but the ragged looking boy with the dark eyes interjected.

"Ooh, planning on using it on someone already, eh? You may be interested in the attachment, then," he said, his voice sounding excited and taking on an almost gravelly tone. "Only one additional Galleon, you just attach it there and it's flat on the end, extends to cover the mouth of whoever it's tickling so no one can hear them scream!" When he finished, he looked so increasingly excited, his eyes were wide and he was licking his lips as he looked back and forth between the twins.

Fred and George exchanged an uneasy glance.

"Well, erm, that's pretty...diabolical," George started.

"Even for us," Fred finished.

The boy frowned, as though he was sorely disappointed.

"Gridgeon! What the bloody hell did I tell you about coming up here and talking to guests?!" the voice of Zonko broke through the brief, awkward silence as the storage room door swung open. He shut it behind him and stepped beside the boy, red faced and scowling, his jaw taut. He was holding handfuls of lime green bags and looking down at the boy like he'd just spotted a cockroach.

The boy who'd been called Gridgeon let his mouth fall open slightly, the little color in his face draining. He visibly gulped as Fred and George exchanged another uneasy glance, uncomfortable at the sudden outburst of rage and animosity the usually chipper joke shop owner had released.

"I—I was just telling them—telling them about the attachment-" he stammered.

"We're not going to be selling that, how many times do I have to tell you?" he hissed, making the boy flinch. "Now get back downstairs."

Gridgeon's eyes were downcast to the floor, and he said nothing, only nodded minutely before turning on his heel and hurrying towards the stairway.

"Stupid Squib," Zonko muttered, shaking his head to himself as the twins stood awkwardly before him. He took a deep breath and placed the bags somewhere under the desk, attempting to collect himself, before rising back up to full stature and letting a smile reappear back on his face. "I have to apologize for my grandson, he's a complete idiot. Where were we, boys? Ah! The Tickler, seven Galleons."

Although Zonko's joke shop was usually the twins' favorite place in the world, suddenly, they couldn't wait to get out of there. There was something uncomfortable in the air, sticky and suffocating that the odd exchange between Zonko and his sullen looking grandson had left behind.

Fred pulled his hands out of his coat pockets, depositing the payment on the counter top and avoiding Zonko's eyes as he slid the box into a green bag.

"Thanks for this, we've got to be going," George said hurriedly, taking the bag off the counter. "We'll be sure to let you know how it turns out."

The joke shop owner smiled widely and raised a hand in goodbye. "See you two soon. Get in extraordinary amounts of trouble, and remember, no apologies!"

Their mumbles of "right" and "okay" were lost among the commotion of the crowded store as they turned away and headed towards the exit, checking the time again to ensure their appropriate arrival at The Hog's Head. Right before Fred took his final step out the front door, following closely behind George, he cast one last look over his shoulder. He looked not at the swimming crowd of Hogwarts students, or at their old friend Rudolph Zonko, but at the boy hovering near the back stairway, his hand resting on the rail, looking around at the crowd of laughing shop guests longingly before hanging his head again and disappearing downstairs.

* * *

As Fred and George completed their tale of realization to Lee and Ava, the four of their gazes collectively traveled over to the thin stairway at the back of the store. It was bathed in shadow and the railing was visibly dusty.

"What do you think's down there?" George asked aloud softly.

They all stayed glued to their spots on the shop floor's main circular area, but the curiosity was practically seeping out of their pores, practically palatable.

"No time like the present," Fred finally responded. He looked around to the other three, who nodded solemnly, and they made their way over, George aiming his wand over his shoulder and locking the shop doors behind them.

When they reached the top of the stairway, peering down the thin, dark passage that ended in a single door, Fred hesitated and rested his hand on the railing, like a younger Gridgeon had all those years ago. It was so dusty that it felt gritty, even beneath Fred's calloused fingers. It was as though it hadn't been touched for years; the lonely passageway remaining unvisited.

"Are you ready?" he asked everyone.

They all passed around another round of solemn nods, and he briefly reached out to his side, giving Ava's hand a squeeze, which she returned. He released her and withdrew his wand again, his eyes trained on the door at the bottom of the stairs as he took a deep breath.

"Alright then, Gridgeon Zonko," he muttered, his foot descending upon the first step. "Let's see what you've been hiding."

* * *

**Author's Notes: The Tickler! Hope you all picked up on that, as the "lethal-looking metal instrument" Fred and George pulled out of a Zonko's bag during the Hog's Head meeting in OOTP. I really enjoyed writing that flashback, I hope you all enjoyed reading it!**

**And wow, over 100 followers! I know that's pretty much nothing in the FF universe, but this is my first story and I'm beyond thrilled.**

**Please, please leave a review! (If you don't, I'll find you, The Tickler in hand!)**


	25. Chapter 25--Crash

**Chapter 25—Crash**

Thirteen years ago, when Fred and George's eldest sibling, Bill, returned from Egypt for the first time on holiday break, the twins couldn't help but tease him.

Christmas dinner was served, and as Bill finished telling a story animatedly about his latest adventure hunting for ancient wizard treasure, Molly was frowning across the table.

"You know boys," she began, staring pointedly at the eleven year old twins, "you haven't seen your brother in months. It'd be nice for you two to stop your...whatever it is that you're doing, and pay him some mind."

Fred and George knew that tone of voice their mother was taking on all too well. They immediately stopped their snorts of laughter, heads bowed together, and sat up straight. They did their best to adhere to their mother's wishes and appear civilized, but couldn't fight the smirks twitching around their mouths.

"S'alright, actually," Bill said softly, patting his mother's hand gently and smiling across at the twins. "I missed you two little buggers. What's got you laughing anyway, hmm?" He shoved a forkful of potatoes into his mouth and blinked at them expectantly.

The twins exchanged looks, silently communicating with one another for a moment before answering.

"We were just...um...talking about your very important work," George said, feigning innocence with a doe-like expression, his eyes wide and chin tilting downwards.

"_Very_ important," Fred continued, his voice rich with sarcastic sincerity.

"Is that right?" Bill asked calmly, still smiling, as their mother and father groaned, expecting the worst. "Go on."

"It's just-" Fred's pubescent voice cracked a bit as his and George's faces turned identical shades of tomato-red, doing their best to contain laughter, "-it must be so hard!"

"_So_ hard!" George followed, starting to snort again.

Bill chewed thoughtfully, tilting his head to one side. "My job?"

"Yes," George replied.

"Your job," agreed Fred.

"It must be...so hard...being a professional...Alohomora user!" George finally spat out, slapping his knee and exploding into loud guffaws with Fred. Clearly, Bill's job was the butt of some sort of inside joke.

"Now, boys," Arthur began, trying his hardest to sound stern, "your brother does very important work, for _very_ important people-"

"Professional Alohomora user?" Molly interjected, her frown deepening. "Is that what you two have been muttering every time he walks in the room? You do realize his job is _extremely_ demanding, and you two would benefit from taking a leaf out of his book when it comes to _hard work, _your marks for your first year at school so far are_ less than exemplary _-"

"It's okay, Mum," Bill reassured his mother again. He was well-known within his family for being incredibly even tempered and unphased, which he displayed as he sat there, still smiling good-naturedly at the twins as they teased him. "Sounds like you've got a good running joke there, boys, but I'm afraid you're completely off the mark."

Fred and George looked at one another again, this time, their faces falling slightly. Teasing someone wasn't nearly as fun when they weren't the least bit bothered by it.

"I haven't used Alohomora a single time over in Egypt," Bill continued, spooning more potatoes on his plate. "Not once. And if I ever tried it I'd most likely be kicked off the crew immediately."

"Really, Bill?" Charlie piped up, frowning in curiosity.

"Really," Bill replied, and pointed his fork down the table at the twins. "Not once," he repeated, and winked.

"Isn't it your job to...unlock tombs and stuff?" Fred asked, joking aside, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Fred," Bill said softly, looking between both him and George. "The ancient Egyptians used a lot more than simple locks on doors to keep their most precious items hidden away. A simple 'Alohomora' is _not_ going to do the trick."

The twins gaped at him: his even tone, his lack of defensiveness, his sense of calm.

"Let me tell you something about Alohomora that they won't teach you in school," he continued, and the twins immediately perked up and leaned forward, their interest piqued. "It's easy. It's too easy. If you can open up something with Alohomora...well, the keeper didn't care enough about the thing to lock it up good enough in the first place."

"That's...not always true," Charlie said, but his tone of voice sounded like he was questioning himself as he said it.

"It is true," Bill said calmly, polishing off the potatoes and setting down his fork gently. "Alohomora means they didn't care."

* * *

The memory of Bill's words floated through Fred's mind as he reached forward to open the door at the bottom of the stairs.

"It's probably locked, mate," Lee said, last in line of the group, standing on his tip-toes to look over George, Ava, and Fred.

The words had barely escaped Lee's mouth as Fred grasped the doorknob and jiggled the round handle back and forth, firmly locked in place. He looked over his shoulder, meeting eyes with George for a second before turning back around and pointing his wand at the door.

"Alohomora."

There came a light clicking noise, and the door swung open gently, just an inch. Fred saw nothing inside the basement-level room but blackness leaking out of the ajar door frame.

"Alohomora means they didn't care," George whispered softly from behind Ava, and Fred exhaled hard, nodding once and nudging the door open wider with his foot.

The four of them filed in slowly, walking gently and cautiously as though each footstep would set off an alarm, or crack the very foundation of the building. They stood beside each other, formed in a line, each of them attempting to squint through the complete and utter blackness surrounding them.

"I can't see anything," Ava's voice floated into the darkness from Fred's right.

"No shit, Sherlock," Lee muttered, immediately followed by a slapping sound and an _"oof!"_

"Children, children," George murmured. "Lumos Sphaera!"

The four of them leaned back, narrowing their eyes and shielding their faces at the sudden explosion of light that had erupted from George's wand. Several large bubbles of blindingly-white illumination bounced along the ceiling softly, like balloons hovering around a room for a party of some sort.

Fred blinked hard, adjusting to the new level of brightness, and subconsciously gripped his wand tighter at his side as he observed the room, expecting the worst.

It's size was smaller than a proper bedroom but larger than a broom closet. The walls were painted in a flat shade of beige. They were covered in a combined layer of dust and small, black pockmarks in explosion-type shapes, reminding Fred and George of their own bedroom back at The Burrow—a museum of memories, each mark reminding them of an experiment or spell gone wrong. A small, cot-like bed was pressed against the wall farthest from them, and although Fred knew it wasn't, it looked like it had been recently slept in; the pillow was rippled and had a head-shaped depression in the middle and the sheets were mussed.

Fred shifted his feet, making a light scraping noise, like paper against concrete. The four of them looked down at once, and saw exactly what the scraping had sounded like—the floor was littered, absolutely covered, with layers upon layers of sheets of parchment, visibly caked in dust.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Fred muttered, frowning and looking around the room some more. Against the left wall sat piles of wooden crates, resting on top of one another in clusters, with more shoved under the cramped space beneath the cot. Against the right wall was a long, thin desk, more of a work space actually, covered in additional black pockmarks and scratches upon the wood surface, with empty vials, more parchment, and tiny mechanical parts spread upon the surface.

"It's...Gridgeon's bedroom," Ava said softly, standing beside the cot and brushing her fingertips along the pillow. She jumped slightly as a brown spider revealed itself and scuttled across the blankets.

"No one's been here in awhile," George replied, standing on his toes and swatting at a thick cobweb nestled in the crook of the ceiling and wall.

"His _old_ bedroom," Ava amended, making her way over to the work desk beside Lee, who was cautiously looking inside a dusty cauldron.

"George," Fred muttered. He was crouching and frowning hard as he gently rifled through a pile of parchment papers in his hands, formerly beneath his feet. He inhaled deeply and puffed out a stream of air, blowing away the grisly layer of dust and grime that covered them. George's shoes appeared in his line of vision, and he rose up to stand, still staring down at the discarded parchment.

The two of them were suddenly silent; so much so that Lee and Ava turned away from fiddling with the random items on the work space to look over their shoulder at the quiet twins. They stood together, their heads bowed and mouths open as they looked over the papers; Fred bringing up the next sheet in the pile from the back and placing it on top, filing through them one by one.

"Fred?" Ava asked delicately, craning her neck forward to see what they were looking at but keeping her feet planted.

The twins were quiet for a few more seconds, until they began muttering amongst themselves; a soft mess of voices frantic and anxious and even a little angry sounding.

"All this time...all this time!"

"I can't believe this."

"So...so Gridgeon-"

"He was the one-"

"Pathetic."

"Guys!" Ava interrupted them, her voice louder and impatient sounding. She held out her arms at her sides in an anxious, inquisitorial manner, and the sudden motion made yet another cracked gumball fall out of her sleeve and roll across the floor. "What is this? Gridgeon-"

"Is the _actual_ inventor of all Zonko's Joke Shop products," Fred finished for her. His voice was grave and flat and hollow sounding, as though someone had died. "He was the inventor. He was the brilliant one, the innovator. Not Zonko."

Ava and Lee gaped at him and he sighed, shaking his head and looking down again at the papers. Each of them were covered in hand-drawn pictures; messy sketches of products with arrows pointing to each individual part, complete with descriptive paragraphs and ideas for names scrawled across the top.

Fred's mind briefly flickered back to that day inside the shop, the day he and George picked up The Tickler: a young Gridgeon, muddy brown hair in his eyes, looking down at the product with a mixture of surprise and hurt on his face.

"_No, no, it's no problem, it's just that I—__**he**__ wanted more time to perfect it before it hit the shelves."_

"But...but Gridgeon's a Squib!" Lee sputtered in disbelief.

George let out a single, sarcastic chuckle. "Exactly. Makes sense, doesn't it?"

"No! It doesn't!" Lee replied. It was threaded through his voice and written all over his face: _I don't want to believe this, I don't want to believe this._

"It does."

The quiet sentiment had come from Ava. She was now standing with her back to the workspace, her spine resting against it with her arms folded across her chest. Hey grey-green eyes were staring across the room, vaguely in the direction of the dusty crates, intently staring at something yet simultaneously, nothing at all. Faraway, and remembering something.

Her gaze flickered back up and shifted from Lee to the twins. "He...he couldn't do magic of his own. Didn't have it in him. So." She paused, letting her hands rise and fall and clap against the sides of her legs. "He made things. Things that would do the magic for him, without the need of spells."

Ava's words continually swirled around inside Fred's skull like water circling a drain:_ 'He made things. Things that would do the magic for him, without the need of spells.'_

"The bombs," George said softly, clearly thinking identically to his twin. The Acid Bomb Gridgeon had used that very first night on Ava in the alley; the cloak-less, Muggle Merryweather solider launching the tiny metal ball at Bill in the shop, sending a shockwave of vibration and force throughout the place, shattering the little glass that was left.

"He's giving Muggles the ability to do magic," Fred mused, and he couldn't deny the sudden onslaught of anxious butterflies that flitted around his stomach as he said the words.

"Hey," Lee said suddenly. "What year did Zonko's open?"

"1985," Fred and George chorused together.

Ava chewed on her bottom lip in thought. "Gridgeon can't be that much older than you three, a few years at most...Zonko's opened when you were...seven? Which means Gridgeon was...no older than ten." Her stream of consciousness ended there, and she looked up to the twins again. "His grandfather was using him since he was ten."

"He was _locked_ in here since he was ten," George added.

Fred found himself whipping his head to the side, shooting his twin somewhat of a dirty look. "Don't tell me—you're feeling _bad_ for him?"

George sighed loudly and shook his head. "'Course I'm not. People make their own choices. Harry grew up locked in a closet and he didn't become a mass murderer and rapist, am I right? It's just got me wondering, you know? How did this even happen? How did he go from this Squib-child to angry teenager to...Merryweather? How does Merryweather fit in with all of this?"

The room suddenly took on the same stale tone from earlier, after Fred had spat out _"coward"_ like it was a dirty curse word. The discomfort in the room was nearly palpable, and whether she realized she was doing it or not, Ava's arm reached backwards, her palm resting against the back of her neck where the **MW** tattoo sat inked.

"Alohomora means he didn't care," Fred said, echoing George's words earlier. He let out a salty laugh. "So I guess that means Zonko never cared enough to seal the sodden door after his grandson left. Didn't care enough to realize one day, someone could just waltz down here and find all of this shit."

"Fred-" Ava started, taking a step forward, but she stopped in her tracks as George wound up his leg and gave a strong, angry kick to the nearest crate. His foot crashed clean through, with bits of wood flying everywhere.

The four of them left the old room in a silence, and none of them bothered locking the door behind them.

* * *

The door leading into the kitchen of The Burrow swung open with a slam, and Ginny jumped in her seat, a biscuit frozen halfway to her mouth.

With one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched in surprise and confusion, she watched as Fred and George trudged in together. Their jaws were set and their eyes were low as they headed straight for the stairs.

"What-" she began.

"Not now, Gin," one of them interrupted instantly, followed by the thundering of their feet jogging up the stairs.

Ginny sighed heavily, shoving the biscuit in her mouth while she stood and dragged her feet as she walked over to the still-ajar door.

"What, do you two live in a barn?" she called over her shoulder, scowling. She kicked the door, swinging it almost shut until a pale hand shot out from the side of the frame and caught it before it closed.

Ginny stumbled backwards in surprise as Ava stepped into the doorway, her hand still resting on the wood. The two made eye contact; Ava looking forlorn and Ginny's mouth dropping open a bit in shock to her appearance, some biscuit crumbs falling out from between her lips. The girl was covered in layers of the seemingly most random things one could ever find themselves covered in: her jeans and black cloak were coated in fluffy grey and black goose feathers, and her long blonde hair was encrusted with crushed pieces of candy that were flashing from pink, to purple, to blue, to green, and back again. There was also what looked like Butterbeer foam stuck to her upper lip.

Ginny burst out in laughter and Ava let her hand slide down the door and drop down to her side.

"What's so funny?" Ava asked in a flat monotone, sounding utterly defeated.

Ginny clapped a few times before wiping tears of mirth away from her eyes. "I'm just...I'm just so happy!"

"Happy?" asked Ava, still sounding unamused.

"Happy," Ginny repeated back to her, her cheeks aching from grinning so hard. "Ecstatic, even. It's just...well, I didn't think I would ever see you look this bad! You're not perfect! You're not perfect! I'm so relieved that you can look fucked up too, praise Merlin!"

Ava rolled her eyes and trudged past her, stopping in the middle of the kitchen and sighing. She reached up to the cloak's clasp around her neck and let it fall to the floor, clouds of goose feathers floating through the air after.

Still giggling, Ginny shut the door and whirled back around, pressing her lips together and looking at the feathers with raised eyebrows.

"Ava...if you and Fred have gotten yourselves involved in some kind of bizarre, feathery sex game, I'm telling you right now, I don't wanna know."

Ava stared back at her, just blinking several times as Ginny smirked and stepped forward, leaning down to retrieve a biscuit off of the plate on the table. "Pecan shortbread?" she offered, holding it out in front of her.

Ava eyed the cookie for only a second before scrunching up her nose. "I've had enough sweets for the day, thanks." She reached up and held out a chunk of her hair, which looked sticky and hard to the touch. Several pieces of candy shell fell to the floor. "Care to help me wash this out?"

Five minutes later, Ava was bent over the deep kitchen sink, her head under the gushing stream of water from the faucet. Ginny stood behind her, furiously pumping yet another pool of soap into her hand and slapping it on to the side of Ava's head.

"Ow! Ginny, what the fuck? I said wash me, not assault me!"

"_Beauty is pain!"_ Ginny roared in reply, using her fingernails to scrub her down to her scalp, feeling triumphant at the sound of several candy pieces clattering to the bottom of the sink.

A sudden shadow passed over their faces, interrupting the buttery sunlight streaming in through the window over the sink. A second later, both girls jumped in place as a loud slamming noise echoed across the property. Ava attempted to raise her head from the sink to take a look, and promptly banged it against the faucet, sending water spraying everywhere.

"Shit!"

Ginny momentarily ignored her, standing on her tip toes and craning her neck to look out the window, squinting through the glass. A delicate cloud of dust was swirling through the air, originating from a dark pile of _something_ on the powdery dirt drive.

Just a few seconds later, something else apparently fell from the sky and made a crash-landing to Earth beside the first. Ava continued to struggle, clumsily trying to back up from the sink and repeatedly catching her ear or hair on the faucet over and over again, cursing aloud each time.

"Give it up, Goldielocks!" Ginny said bossily, pushing her against the sink once more, reaching out and shoving her head under the stream. She began washing Ava's hair again, but she was absentmindedly doing it now with little effort, her hands resembling a cat kneading its paws on a blanket. She was watching in interest as more items rained down from up above, crashing on to the drive or grass beside it and destructing into millions of tiny pieces.

"What's going on out there?" Ava gasped, coughing against the water.

"It looks like...oh my God, are those all of Fred and George's old Zonkos products?" her hands froze on Ava's hair as she gaped out the window.

"Figures," Ava said, sounding like she was thinking out loud. She caught Ginny's attention; she jumped in place a bit as though awakening from a trance and went back to scrubbing Ava's hair with effort, determined to remove the candy.

"What figures?"

As Ava explained to Ginny what had just happened back in Hogsmeade village, the aerial parade of Zonko's items being discarded from out the twins' old bedroom window continued. By the time Ava was finished recounting the story, all traces of the gumballs were gone and Ava was finally allowed to remove her head from the sink, hanging her wet head upside-down to wrap it in a towel, and flipping it back up to see a horrified look on Ginny's face.

"That's why they looked so...murderous, when they came in," she finally said, watching open-mouthed as a large lime green flag emblazoned with the joke shop's signature black Z fluttered to the ground outside.

Ava was leaning her back against the sink, and briefly looked over her shoulder out at the yard before turning back to Ginny.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are they so upset? I get that they used to go there a lot as teenagers, Fred told me as much, but like you said...murderous." The last word ended in a murmur as more items came falling through the air past the window.

Ginny leaned alongside Ava, folding her arms across her chest. "Zonko's wasn't just their favorite store...it's part of why they are who they are, honestly. Don't get me wrong, they were always mischievous little jackasses, but they didn't start the elaborate pranks, really, until they started visiting Zonko's." She fiddled with a hole in her sleeve against her elbow. "They absolutely worshiped the man, and he took a certain liking to them from the beginning. Treated them like-"

"Sons," Ava finished for her, remembering Zonko's strangled yell as he ducked behind the check-out counter at the shop.

"Exactly. With everything you just told me...I mean Zonko being a big fat liar, faking his talent and enslaving his Squib grandson to invent for him? They must be feeling like part of their history just...died. Like part of their story was never real."

Immediately following Ginny's words, the largest shadow preceding the loudest crash yet exploded from the outside, and both girls whirled around to see an enormous wooden crate splintered into pieces, random objects falling out from the inside and rolling across the grass.

"_Now that does it!"_ shrieked a voice, and Ginny and Ava whipped their heads to the side to look at one another, their eyes as round as coins.

"That's Mum," Ginny whispered hurriedly, her face panicked. "She hasn't had to deal with the twins' shenanigans in years, she's lost her immunity to their noise! She's gonna be pissed, come on, let's get out of here!"

Ginny grabbed Ava's arms and twirled her around, the towel around her head swinging out behind her, beginning to frog-march her out of the room in an attempt to escape her mother's wrath, but she was too late.

"Ginny!"

"It wasn't me!" Ginny yelped in reply, turning around in dread to greet the sight of an infuriated Molly.

"I know that!" her mother snapped, jabbing her index finger at the ceiling and pointing. "Them! _What are they doing?!_ Rose just got to sleep, she was up all night screaming her blessed little head off, oh, Hermione is going to have a cow—Fred! George! Get down here this instant!"

The three women stood frozen in an expectant silence for a few moments, before one last thing went sailing by the window and exploded upon the ground in a small fireball, and the wails of a crying infant filled the air.

"_Boys!"_

With a loud popping noise, Fred and George Apparated into the kitchen. Their expressions were noticeably lighter than before and upon their appearance, they were already leaning back slightly with looks of mock horror on their faces as Molly whirled around to place her hands on her hips and shriek at them.

"_That baby has been up crying nearly every hour, driving your poor sister-in-law to tears, this is the first time in almost a day Hermione's been able to lay down and get some rest, you should be absolutely ashamed of yourselves-"_

Ginny giggled, stifling the noise with a hand over her mouth as her mother continued her tirade.

"_-absolutely disgraceful what you've done to our yard, you know how hard I work to keep everything looking nice, and to top it off you've sent the pigs running amok-"_

Ginny giggled again, and Ava nudged her, leaning in to whisper.

"What are you laughing at?"

"This," Ginny said, gesturing to the scene of beratement in front of them. "I dunno, call me crazy but anytime _I'm_ not the one getting yelled at is a good time-"

"_-you are mad if you think you're getting away from this unscathed, you will clean up every bit of trash from the outside, NO MAGIC, George, as a married man now I expected more from you—Fred Gideon Weasley, you stop your smirking and look at me IMMEDIATELY!"_

Fred's gaze had drifted to look over his mother's shoulder at Ava, smiling slightly and wiggling his eyebrows at her flirtatiously as he was getting yelled at. He jumped in place, cringing like a dog who'd been swatted with a newspaper as George moaned, tilting his head back and rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Muummm, come on now, we were just engaging in some therapy!"

"Therapy?" she repeated back to her son, fire still in her voice.

"Therapy!" George repeated back to her, nodding enthusiastically. "Ridding ourselves of the past, doing what we need to do to feel better, letting things that hurt us become yesterday's news—speaking of news, Mum, you don't want to look at the Prophet today, really, it'll give you a heart attack-"

"Fred, George? You're here? Is Ava with you?"

The soft, gentle voice floated from the staircase, and Hermione emerged, her daughter on her breast and a blanket thrown over her shoulder.

"Hermione, dear," Molly said, her volume falling down about a hundred levels and affection threaded through her formerly angry voice. "My boneheaded sons would like to offer you their utmost apologies for waking Rose, you go back to relaxing and I'll take care of her-"

"It's okay Mum, that's not what I'm here about," Hermione replied, smiling graciously at her mother-in-law. She shifted Rose to one arm and used her other to dig through the pocket of her dark blue skirt. Her hand emerged with a large silver coin, catching the light streaming in through the window above the sink and sending a twinkling, blinding prism around the room as she turned it from side to side between her thumb and forefinger. "I've got a new message from Dakota."

* * *

**_Different location. No suspicions upon return._**

**_Steady_**

**_Not sure why location moved._**

**_Heard a rumor. Will update._**

**_Steady_**

**_Rumor is true. Will update._**

**_Plans in the works. Will keep my ear out._**

**_Steady_**

Four days after the confrontation at Zonko's, the entirety of the Order sat gathered in the Treehouse. It was quiet among them as they sat on the edge of their seats, everyone seemingly terrified of making a noise too loud of moving too abruptly.

"What the bloody hell does 'steady' even mean?" Fred muttered, thumping his elbows on the tabletop and frowning at the large chalkboard on wheels. On one side was all of Fred's original notes from their meeting a few weeks ago, with the list of mission objectives and printed out photographs of the American Six. That side was flipped and facing away from them; tonight they stared at the side that they'd been using to copy down and keep track of all of Dakota's coin messages. The first column of them seemed to indicate that Merryweather's headquarters had been moved, but he'd never specified why or to where. Frustratingly enough, those were about as specific as the messages got: as they wore on, they saw less actual news and more of just the single word: Steady.

"That is annoying, isn't it?" Ava muttered back, scowling along with him.

"I suppose it means everything is steady, with no new developments," came a light, airy voice from the next table over. Luna sat perched on the long bench, her thin legs crossed Indian-style and her head cocked to the side, giving her the appearance of a curious bird in a nest. "I suppose he wanted to abide by the rule of sending messages everyday, without having to go into detail."

Lee raised his eyebrows at her. "You know, for a guy who went and shot you, you're awfully understanding of him."

Luna's lips, coated in a lipstick color so brightly pink it was borderline offensive to the eyes, upturned slightly in a smile. "Oh, I don't hold it against him, really. Just doing what was needed to make an impression. We've all done things like that, haven't we?"

"No," chorused the voices of Lee, Fred, George, Charlie, Bill, and Neville.

"Mmm," she merely hummed back in response, absentmindedly reaching over to Neville's plate and eating one of his steamed baby carrots by hand.

"Has the gunshot wound affected her in some way? I mean...is she okay? Has she...always been like that?" Ava whispered to Fred, leaning into him and touching her head to his.

He smiled and turned his head to the side, his nose pressing up against her hair. He inhaled the scent of it deeply for a second before extending his lips to kiss the side of her head, and whisper back into her ear, "She is absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent herself."

"It's been three minutes, where are they?"

The urgently voiced open question had come from Percy, at the third table. He was taking the time to look down at his wrist watch every six seconds or so, becoming more and more anxious with each glance.

"You're right, Perce, surely they're dead," George replied sarcastically, sending a low rumble of laughter through the room.

Percy's face flushed red. "This isn't about punctuality, George. Dakota's message is quite clear, isn't it? They should have been in and out."

Everyones' eyes drifted over to the chalkboard, where Dakota's last message—the one that had distracted Hermione enough to avoid strangling the twins for waking baby Rose—stared back at them, begrudgingly reminding them Percy was right.

**_Wednesday. Nine o'clock. Maverick's pub. Pick up._**

Harry, Ron, and Kingsley had left the Treehouse not even five minutes ago to go and retrieve whatever Dakota Murray was dropping off, leaving a room full of anxiety and hand-wringing. No one had any idea what they could be coming back with.

At that moment, the roar of growing flames in the fireplace-signaling an incoming party from the Floo network-sent a ripple of excitement through the Order. Most craned their necks, if not jumped to their feet, to get a better view of the now-sparkling emerald green fire.

Ron and Harry stepped out almost simultaneously, Ron stumbling a bit and Harry looking slightly naked without his glasses. They were clutched in his fist at his side, and he rose his hands to his face to replace them, coughing a bit at the smoke.

"Well?" Fred sputtered, on his feet and looking back and forth between Ron and Harry desperately, clearly noticing Kingsley's lack of presence.

"He's coming," Ron replied, nodding.

"Kingsley?" Fred pushed, but the flames grew and crackled again, and his question was answered.

Kingsley's leg extended outward first, gold and brown robes swirling around him, and then came the rest of him—except his right arm, which remained behind in the flames. He seemed to give it a little tug, and his arm appeared—with Dakota Murray himself at the end of it.

"What—what's he doing here? Is _he_ the pick up?" Fred demanded, looking at Dakota the way Molly looked at a speck of dirt she missed while scrubbing the kitchen floor. He was wearing Merryweather's official uniform: all white cargo pants, with a white long-sleeved shirt and white bullet-proof vest on top. It was all terribly streaked with ashes and burn marks after traveling the Floo. There was a long white gun strapped to his back, and two smaller pistols on his hips, which everyone was currently eyeing with suspicion and disgust.

Dakota was fighting to keep his balance after his journey through the Floo; he was stumbling in place and reaching his arms out like that of a sleepwalking man, looking for something to hold on to. Kingsley gently nudged him in the direction of the stone mantle surrounding the fireplace, and he leaned against it, nodding at Kingsley in thanks as he coughed.

"Nice to see you too," he said, his voice strained, squeezing his eyes shut. "I think I'm gonna be sick. Pass me a bucket or something, will ya?"

Fred could practically feel the irritation twinging around his chest at just the mere presence of Dakota; everything about him annoyed Fred. It was more so his twangy Texan accent than anything else; he made the word "nice" sound like "nass".

Harry's eyes were round as he darted to the other side of the mantle to fetch the medium-sized cauldron resting on the floor, reaching out and shoving it into Dakota's arms just in time. He plunged his soot-covered face into it immediately and the room was filled with the sounds of his retching.

"Harry, dear, is that—is that my stew pot?" Molly asked in a delicate voice, perking up in her seat.

Harry's lips parted in surprise as he looked back and forth between her and the cauldron Dakota's face was buried in.

"So it's puke-soup for dessert, then?" Ron asked the room, looking around grinning and waiting for a comical response, which he didn't receive.

"That smells ripe," Lee muttered, tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, his hands traveling to rest on his abdomen. "I think I'm going to be sick as well."

"Oh my God, if he pukes too, I'm going to puke!" Ginny exclaimed, jumping to her feet and clapping a hand to her mouth.

"Everybody shut up, no one—no one else-" he paused to shoot a dirty look at Dakota, whose face had emerged from the cauldron and was now just leaning against the mantle, panting, "-is puking." He strode over to the sickly Marine, tearing the vomit-filled pot out of his limp hands and stomping outside.

"Where's he going?" asked Neville, looking slightly green as well with all the talk of puke.

"He's throwing the cauldron over the landing," George said simply, watching his twin out the Bay window and shrugging. "Sorry Mum, we'll get you another."

The door swung open and Fred returned, the cauldron indeed gone from sight. He placed his hands on his hips and raised a single eyebrow while looking the soldier up and down in disgust.

"Have you recovered yet? Need someone to tuck you in bed and sing you a lullaby, too?"

Dakota's head shot up to shoot Fred a look of pure venom, and he took a shaky step forward. "One of these days, Fred, one of these days!"

"Is there a rest to that threat, or are you leaving it open-ended?"

Dakota jabbed a soot-covered index finger outwards, pointing it to Fred's chest. "I just risked my sweet ass for you, you jackass!"

"Dakota," Kingsley suddenly said in a stern, booming voice. "Enough."

Fred smiled smugly.

"And you, Fred," Kingsley added, wiping the smirk off Fred's face. "You're supposed to be our leader, no? Act like it."

Fred's instinctive defensiveness flared up inside of his chest again, but, doing his best to control his temper, he closed his eyes and counted to five slowly. By the time he reached three, he managed to convince himself _not_ to pummel Dakota Murray to death, and by the time he reached five, his fists had actually unclenched.

"Sit," he said to Dakota, jabbing his head towards the first table.

"I ain't no dog," Dakota muttered, but did as he was told and settled down on the bench, across from Ginny. He began removing the guns from the various straps along his body, and placing them down on the wooden table with loud clunking noises. When he looked up, he noticed Ginny staring at him warily.

He smiled a little. "Hey," he said to her softly, nodding at her and winking.

"Now I'm really going to vomit," Ginny muttered, turning away.

Fred made his way to the front of the room, standing beside the chalkboard with Dakota's messages.

"How long are you here for this time?" he addressed the soldier, fighting to keep his tone even.

Dakota scratched the back of his shaved head. "Well...forever."

Fred's eyes bulged out of his head, and George made a choking noise, and leaned forward to stare at Dakota from down the table. "I'm sorry, I _definitely_ heard wrong...what the fuck did you just say?"

"Language," Molly hissed from the next table over.

"I'm here forever, I guess," said Dakota, shrugging and reaching around his torso to start pulling at the velcro of his white kevlar. "I've got news. Once I tell you, they're gonna know I betrayed 'em."

"Why's that?" Ava asked, looking back and forth from him to Fred.

"Because we'll be fightin' them the day after tomorrow."

"What?!" Ginny shrieked.

"Like I said, my ears must really be in dire need of a cleaning, once again—what _the fuck_ did you just say?!"

"George, language!"

"Everybody shut up, please!" Fred commanded, holding his hands up, but even he looked surprised. "Dakota, what are you talking about?"

Dakota arrogantly rolled his eyes and leaned forward across the table, snatching up the half-drunk bottle of red wine from in front of Ginny and bringing it to his lips for a swig. He was sure to let out a refreshed sounding _"aahhh"_ before placing it back down and licking his lips, staring straight at Fred the whole time. It had seemingly turned into a bit of a game, now: who could piss off the other the most?

"You heard me," he said simply, unsticking the other side of his kevlar vest. "Something's goin' down Friday. Something big. We gotta be there to intercept them. This is our chance."

"Elaborate."

Dakota drank directly from the bottle of wine again before answering. "Rumor has it we moved headquarters due to yet _another_ breakout." His eyes drifted over to Ava, winking to her as well, before traveling back to Fred. "Mass rioting. More prisoners on the run."

"Oh—oh my God!" Ava exclaimed, her jaw dropping and leaning eagerly across the table to look down at Dakota. "Who was it? How'd they break out? Do you know their names?"

"Don't know their names," Dakota said lightly, and let his bulletproof vest fall to the floor with another loud thud.

"Would you know them if you heard them? Annie 'Fox' Wu, Callaghan Forrester?"

"I said I don't know their names, damnit, woman!" Dakota snapped.

Fred's face twisted in outrage and offense as he took just a couple wide strides forward, closing the space between him and the table. He bent down, slamming his palms down on the wood and leaning forward threateningly.

"You expect protection from us, huh?" Fred's voice was soft, but dangerous.

Dakota did nothing but stare back at Fred, hard-faced, and Fred leaned in further.

"You never speak to her like that again, hear me?"

After a few seconds, Dakota offered Fred a curt nod, which Fred returned and took as his cue to back away and resume his original spot.

"Once again...elaborate."

"Rumor has it the ones that escaped were more test subjects. Ones like you," Dakota nodded towards Ava. "And they are wastin' no time at all findin' replacements. But they're branchin' outside of the country for these ones. Need to break up the pattern from the disaster that was the American Six."

"You know," Vladimir's deep voice suddenly interjected. "You keep using this word. 'Rumor'. We do not operate on rumors. We operate on facts. Just how reliable are these rumors?"

"Branching outside the country?" Charlie followed, raising his eyebrows at Dakota. "Branching out, where, exactly?"

"Rumors are _very_ reliable. More or less factual, I'd say." He raised his arms above his head to stretch, arching his back and puffing his chest, his hazel eyes shifting over to Ginny again as he did so. "See, the thing with the military is, you're never going to get a straight story from your commanding officers. Not supposed to ask questions. We find out the truth for ourselves and pass it along, and hope it doesn't turn into a game of telephone."

"What's that about telephones?" Arthur asked eagerly.

"Not now, Arthur," whispered Molly, leaving her husband crestfallen.

"And as for where they're branchin'...well, we'll be takin' a bit of a trip." Dakota looked up through his eyelashes at the group. "Y'all ever been to the Caribbean?"

"Oh, for the love of God," said George in a low voice, and beside him, Lee guffawed in laughter and reached over, slapping his pink, sunburned skin hard.

"I dunno, Fred, I don't think I'll be doin' so well on a beach," said Hagrid uncomfortably, shifting around in his seat and making the bench creak beneath his enormous size.

"Beel!" Fleur said loudly to her husband, scowling. "I cannot follow zis fool all over ze world! We 'ave children!"

"Wait, wait, wait," said Fred, waving his hands back and forth in the air erratically. "The Caribbean? Why the Caribbean?"

"There's a Veterinary school down there, on St. Kitts." Dakota began drumming his fingers against the table top. "Ross University. Fresh faces, sharp minds. They want best of the best. They want students. Target a group the night after partying or somethin', make it look like a tragic accident." He shrugged. "Authorities in the Caribbean are apparently a little...slow on the uptake. They're confident they can get away with snatchin' a few up."

After his words, the room was verging on the brink of chaos; no one was even pretending to pay Fred attention anymore as they spoke with one another in hysteria.

"Your information is quite valuable, Dakota," Arthur said loudly, holding his hand up and managing to hush the over-excited group. "But I'm afraid it's...incredibly short notice. You cannot expect us to drop everything at the expense of this rumor, we need time to strategize, time to plan, and there is simply none of that right now-"

"Big hat, no cattle."

Fred narrowed his eyes and shifted his feet. "What did you just say?"

Dakota's lips were pursed hard, so much so that they were crinkled together in almost a pucker. He suddenly exploded; his fist slamming down on the table right before he jumped to his feet, making everyone flinch in surprise.

"You," he nearly snarled, jabbing his finger to point at Fred again. "Big hat, no cattle. You talk a pretty big game, Fred, makin' all kinds'a promises, makin' all kinds'a threats." He held his arms out at his sides. "You talk the talk but you don't walk the walk. You _say_ you wanna take down Merryweather, you _say_ you wanna help the cause, hell, you _act like_ you wanna avenge your little _girlfriend_-" globules of spit flew out of his mouth on the last word, and he pointed at Ava over his shoulder with his thumb, "-but I have yet to see it. Get on my level, Fred! I just risked my ass and left Merryweather for good—for you! Return the favor. Grow a pair and fight."

George sprang to his feet, closely followed by Lee, and they began yelling. Fred suspected they were most likely defending him in some way, but, as his father jumped to his feet as well, yelling and gesturing wildly and calling for order, the noise blurred together. The background chaos turned into melting ice cream left out in the sun; all of the screaming and stomping of feet melded into a dull, unintelligible roar.

Fred's heart was pounding harder and harder inside his chest, and all he wanted to do was look at Ava.

Everyone around her on the benches had moved to standing, all pointing at one another with loud voices and angry faces and bits of saliva flying everywhere. But she remained sitting—incredibly calm looking, actually—her forearms resting on the table top, and Fred was grateful: when he looked at her, she was already looking straight at him. Their eyes met, and a sense of silent conversation moved through the air.

_Dakota is right_, her eyes said.

I_ know_, his own admitted.

_We have to go._

_I know._

The scar across her throat. The tattoo on her neck. The gash from the gunshot wound on the side of her leg. The blood on her arms, long washed away and gone by now, bright red and sticky from helping Sarah give birth to Gridgeon's son down in the Cube.

_We can't let this happen again._

Fred swallowed hard, straining against the lump in his throat, and dipped his chin deeply in a single nod.

"We're going."

Even amongst the Order's uproar, his short, calm statement brought on a sudden quiet. Most faces were gawking at him in a stunned silence. Even McGonagall had been yelling; her cheeks were pink and her hat was askew.

Dakota, whose jaw was wide open mid-yell at George, froze in place for a moment before turning to Fred. He looked confused with himself; convinced he hadn't heard correctly.

Fred sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets, tearing his eyes away from Ava and now staring straight at the Marine.

"I know you're not an idiot," he said quietly, "but I need you to realize something."

The whole room was teetering on a precipice; shocked at Fred's calm and lack of temper, looking back and forth between him and Dakota in a state of shock as the two exchanged quiet, respectful words. You could have heard a pin drop.

"What's that?" Dakota asked.

"You...you telling us this...us going, to St. Kitt's to intercept them...you realize you're putting Taylor in danger, right?"

At the mention of his sister, Dakota softened. His puffed chest fell as he exhaled deeply, and the arrogance and rage melted away from his face.

"It's just that...if anything, we've learned by now that Merryweather acts out when they feel threatened, right?" Fred continued. "So if you're telling us this...and you're going to be there with US, fighting THEM...well, if your sister is still alive somewhere, they might use her as an act of revenge. You realize that, right?"

Fred counted the moments in quiet to a full twelve seconds before Dakota answered.

"I know."

A soft murmur traveled through the room.

"You know?"

"I do. Look, I'd give anything to find Taylor—and hell, I'm ashamed to say this, but there's one thing I can almost say I want a little more!"

"What's that?" Fred asked softly.

"Justice." Dakota said the word slowly, emphasizing the sound of each and every letter as it escaped his mouth, as though to highlight how much it actually meant to him. "I want Taylor back, but if I can prevent ten more Taylors from happening...ten more...you, I forgot your name," he twisted his torso and vaguely gestured towards Ava, and shrugged at Fred soulfully. "Then I can put my head on my pillow at night, and rest easy. I can know that I did my job. Can you say the same?"

Fred's eyes traveled over to Ava's again, and he knew what he had to do.

"We're going."


	26. Chapter 26--Push

**Chapter 26—Push**

_Dakota rose his hand in a salute, fingers outstretched. His entire hand was shaking underneath the white glove, but he was trying his best to hide it._

He held the magazine in his left hand, swirling the bullets around in his right palm like marbles. He'd always liked everything about holding them: their surprising weight for their size, the coolness of the metal, the solid clinking sounds they made against one another. The silence of the early morning in the forest around him was unbearable, and with a sigh, he began pushing the bullets into the magazine one by one.

_The crest of his index finger brushed against his brow, moist with sweat. The heavy wool of his Dress Blues was practically suffocating him in the heat; the blinding sunshine flickering at him from behind the enormous rippling American flag above him._

As the magazine became close to full, the bullets were harder and harder to load, the spring of the magazine fighting against him with a familiar resistance. With a frown and a furrowing of his brow, he pushed the last one into place.

"_I pledge allegiance, to the flag..."_

Dakota switched the loaded magazine into his left hand, picking up his matte white Beretta M9 with his right. Custom Merryweather. Of course.

"_To the United States of America..."_

He slammed the magazine in with his left palm, and pulled back the slide until his ears were met with that satisfying click. The first round popped out and bounced to the forest floor, soft among soil and pine needles.

"_And to the republic..."_

He adjusted his feet to shoulder-width, cocking his head to one side and raising the gun out before him, his left hand cupped around the bottom, supporting his right hand's grip on the gun, his finger already resting on the trigger. He squinted in aim at the gnarled surface of a tree trunk about twenty yards away.

"_For which it stands..."_

He inhaled. Stayed completely still, and pulled the trigger. The kickback barely affected him as he stayed rooted in place, watching the bark from the tree trunk explode and shatter away as the bullet made contact with it. Exhaled, and dozens of birds cried out in protest and surprise, rising out from their camouflaged places in the trees and fleeing into the open sky.

"_One Nation..."_

Inhaled. Pulled the trigger. Reveled in the satisfying, echoing crack of the gunshot in the quiet forest. Exhaled.

"_Under God..."_

Again. And again. He was absolutely decimating the tree; the old, dark brown bark, threaded with emerald moss on the front side now completely blown off; the raw, naked heartwood exposed.

"_Indivisible..."_

His latest shot made a whirring sound through the air, fleeting as it missed the tree and continued on, invisible in the distance. He frowned and fired again and again, not bothering to keep his aim anymore, a choking sensation rising in his throat.

"_With liberty and justice for all."_

Click, bang. Click, bang. Click, bang.

_He finished the pledge, and his initiation as a United States Marine was complete. His fellow officers grinned and gripped each others shoulders, jostling and congratulating one another in joy. Family members sitting in the bleachers before them rose from their seats, spilling on to the field and rushing toward their sons and brothers and boyfriends and husbands._

"_Are you ready to go, son?" A sudden voice came from his left._

_Dakota didn't turn. He continued staring straight ahead, fighting his lower lip against trembling, the shiny black strip around the base of his white hat suddenly feeling as though it were getting tighter and tighter, about to split the top of his head clean off. He replied with a single, curt nod._

"_Good. Your sister will be real happy to see you." The voice was suddenly connected to an arm, and a hand rested on Dakota's shoulder, squeezing it in an almost fatherly manner._

_It took everything Dakota had to not physically flinch away, and pinpricks of tears bit at his eyes. Eighteen was still a teenager, after all, and he hadn't yet perfected controlling his emotions._

"_I—I get to see Taylor?"_

_The hand squeezed again. "Yes."_

_Although the word had left the Merryweather representative's lips, Dakota could practically taste the lie in his own mouth._

"_Ready to go?" the voice asked again, but he didn't wait for an answer. He increased his pressure on Dakota's shoulder and began pushing him forward and to the right, steering him away from the celebratory crowd._

_Before he left the field completely and approached the black car awaiting them,the engine quietly humming, he allowed himself one small look behind him._

_The bleachers were nearly empty, but right in the center of them sat his parents, desperately clinging on to one another and visibly sobbing as they watched another one of their children whisked away by Merryweather._

Dakota realized he'd lost count as he squeezed the trigger one final time, and the gun merely clicked in response. He'd emptied the entire magazine into the forest before him.

"Dakota. Dakota!"

The voice woke him out of his trance and he jumped slightly, whirling to his left, the unpleasant sensation of his heart dropping down through his stomach heavy in his abdomen.

Ava was standing a few yards away, watching him. She wore that stupid look on her face that she seemed to always have on: curious but simultaneously incredibly guarded and skittish. The expression reminded him of trying to feed a wild animal; their eyes wide and their limbs stiff, ready to make a run for it any second, but their hunger and desire apparent.

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "Dakota, are you...are you crying?"

He did nothing but stare and blink for a moment or two before jumping again and mashing his left sleeve against his face, a faint feeling of salty moisture whispering against the back of his hand.

"What? No! I'm—I'm shootin'!" He rose his right hand, which was still gripping the gun, and waved it around for a second as if to prove his point.

She pressed her lips together. "I see." Her arms were folded against her chest as she took a few steps forward, closing the space between them until she stood on the other side of the tree stump beside his hip. She gazed down at the surface of the stump, where his additional Beretta lay, its magazine and two boxes of bullets beside it.

A breeze made its way through the dense forest, weaving through the trees, and it made her light blonde hair flutter and flare out towards him. She reached up and tucked it behind her ears, and he swore he caught the scent of it before the wind died down. He found himself breathing it in as deeply as he could.

_What the fuck am I doing?_ He found himself thinking, shaking his head to himself. Sniffing a girl's damn hair. God, he was lonely.

"We were looking for you," she said quietly, looking up at him.

Dakota suddenly felt itchy; not on his skin but all over, as if something was crawling around inside of him. Her greyish-green eyes remained unwavering, and the feeling intensified. This is why he couldn't stand to look directly at the girl. _This is guilt._

"Thought Fred said the transport was leaving at eight," he replied, and checked his digital watch. 7:16.

"The Portkey? It is," she replied, still watching him intently. "But we were still looking for you."

"Thought I'd run off, did you now?" he muttered, beginning to push bullets back into his Baretta's magazine.

"Why are you so uncomfortable?"

Dakota froze, his thumb paused over a bullet, about to load it into the clip. He blinked down at it a few times before looking back up at her. "'Scuse me?"

"You're so..." she trailed off, letting her hand rise and fall, vaguely gesturing towards him. Her face was screwed up as though she were in a considerable amount of pain, or confusion. Or maybe both. "Writhe-y. Like you're about to crawl out of your own skin. What's with you?"

"Right," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "You're little brain thingy you do." He gestured towards the side of his skull with his index finger whirring around, mockingly, before busying himself with the bullets again.

"Yeah, that brain thingy I do, thanks to your little _friends_," she retorted, stomping around the side of the stump and approaching him closely.

"Woah, woah, woah, back up, woman!" he exclaimed, dancing out of the way.

Ava scowled at him. "I'm not going to _hit_ you," she said in a disgusted sort of voice. "I just want you to put the damn bullets down and look at me!"

"Well maybe I don't like lookin' at you!"

"Why?!"

"Why are you do gosh-darned insistent?" he hissed back at her.

They were at a stalemate; staring at one another with identical mixtures of fury and frustration and scoffing.

Dakota broke the silence first. "You take that one," he said, jabbing his index finger at the second gun laying across the surface of the tree stump.

He expected her to come at him with some annoyingly witty retort, or question the hell out of him. But instead, she chewed her bottom lip and tapped her foot for a moment as though deciding what to do, before turning in place and striding back to the stump. Dakota watched her, fixated, as she impressively emptied a handful of bullets from the box and loaded the magazine quickly, cocking the gun and releasing the first round easily, with a practiced hand.

"Alright, then," he said softly, stepping up beside her and loading his own gun. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she shuffled in place and dug her heels in the ground before raising her arms with the gun out before her. "You know I told you, I heard you'd shot one of us—one of _them_," he amended quickly, "right between the eyes, but I dunno. I thought it was dumb luck. Didn't know you _actually_ knew how to handle a weapon ." He raised his gun and fired, hitting the same tree again.

Ava momentarily ignored him, tilting her head to the right side and squeezing her left eye closed. He watched her chest rise with a breath, and then pause, right before she squeezed the trigger and fired. The shot made a sharp whizzing sound before making a solid impact on a tree about five yards farther than his.

She let her arms fall slowly, the gun hanging in her hand at her side, and she grinned over at him. "What was that you said about dumb luck?"

Dakota couldn't help it; he laughed sheepishly and shook his head. "Your Daddy teach you?"

"Of course." She raised the gun and fired again, making a second bullet hole closely beside her first.

Dakota let out a whistle. "Alright, then. Alright. That one's yours."

Her lips parted in surprise, her arrogance gone. "Mine? What do you mean, mine?"

He smirked at her. "By the word 'yours', I was implying it is no longer 'mine'. The word 'yours' implies I am gifting it, to you."

Ava simply stared at him for a few seconds, her face blank, before suddenly bursting into ridiculous laughter, throwing her head back and holding her belly with her free hand.

"The hell's got you laughing so hard?"

She straightened up, shaking her head, her cheeks bright pink. "I think I've figured out why you and Fred can't stand each other!" she exclaimed amongst more giggles. "I mean...you're basically him, you know that? You're like the American, military, country boy version of him! You two sound just like each other sometimes, I swear!" She laughed again, panting slightly to catch her breath, before clicking on her gun's safety and pushing it inside the waistband of her pants, against her hip. She didn't wait for him to say or do anything else, she simply continued grinning and turned around, slowly walking back through the forest towards the Treehouse.

"Hey...I am not!" he argued back, staring at her swaying blonde hair and shoulders intently as she walked away. He frantically collected his supplies from the stump and scrambled after her.

"Are too," she said in a sing-song voice over her shoulder.

Dakota let out a puff of air through his nose, frowning deeply and aiming a kick at a passing bush as he followed her.

"Am not," he muttered.

* * *

_Kingsley...Harry...Ron and Hermione, bickering about something..._

Fred scanned the first floor of the Treehouse, mentally making note of who'd shown up for the 8am Portkey to St. Kitts.

_Percy's wife, Audrey...Vlad..._

Fred noticed he was nearing the end of the group, and realized what he'd said the night before had indeed been taken at face value.

The room had once again become swallowed by the dull roar of arguing and protesting after he'd insisted the Order was to intercept Merryweather at Ross University.

"We're going," he'd repeated, _"but."_ He paused, holding up his hand as though he were making an oath of some sort. The room went quiet. "This is to be strictly an at-will mission. No one is required to go, no one will be looked down on or penalized for not going. This is dangerous, I realize that. Now, for those of you who _want_ to come," he'd paused pointedly to look around the room with raised eyebrows, "we leave at eight in the morning tomorrow. Kingsley, you can approve Percy for producing a Portkey, right?"

The plans had been made, and now, at 7:33am, Fred finished counting the members of the Order who'd volunteered themselves.

_McGonagall...Lee...George. But what about-_

The door to the Treehouse slammed open, and a twangy accented voice assaulted Fred's ears.

"You can try to hide it all you want, but that gun makes you happy as a gopher in soft mud, don't it?"

_'Happy as a gopher in soft mud.'_

_Dakota. Of fucking course._

The Marine strode in, or rather, strutted, looking rather pleased with himself. Directly behind him was Ava, who was quick to meet Fred's eyes, jab her head in his direction, and send Fred a look that quite plainly said:_ 'is this guy serious?'_

Fred's heart did something of a somersault as she grinned at him and he grinned back, watching her squeeze by George and Lee and maintain eye contact with him the whole time as she neared.

Dakota suddenly slid into his line of vision, blocking Ava from view before she could get to him.

"Mornin'!" he greeted Fred in a voice that was way too cheerful to not be sarcastic.

Ava appeared at Dakota's side, walking out from behind him and coming to stand beside Fred. He felt her fingers weaving though his hanging at his side, and watched as Dakota's hazel eyes traveled down briefly to stare at the tender gesture, then back up to his face.

"Where were you?" he asked the Marine flatly.

Dakota reached behind him to swipe a pastry off of the platter sitting on one of the long wooden tables, and shoved it into his mouth greedily before answering.

"I was in the forest," he said in a muffled voice as Fred watched him in disgust. He gulped heartily and jabbed his finger down, pointing to the floor. "Down there."

"Well, I figured you weren't climbing the trees like some sort of spider monkey," Fred mused, feeling Ava's hand vibrate within his as she shook with laughter. "What were you doing, _'down there'_?"

Dakota shoved another pastry to his face, and somehow decided that was the opportune moment to grin, sending croissant crumbs raining down to the floor. "Why don'chya tell him what we were doin', mm?" he said, staring at Ava with an amused expression.

She rolled her eyes. "_We_ were not doing anything," she started, looking up at Fred. "_He_ was shooting."

"Shooting? What the bloody hell were you doing that for?"

"_What the bloody hell were you doing that for?"_ Dakota imitated Fred in his best attempt at a British accent.

Ava let out a small yelp, and Fred realized he was squeezing her hand in suppressed rage, nearly crushing it.

"If you must know, I was just lettin' off some steam," Dakota replied, sighing dramatically. "Couldn't stand the quiet of the forest no more. I'm not much for the quiet. It's just plain creepy." He reached behind him for yet another pastry, patting his hand around on the table, until he grabbed a handful of something and brought it around to his mouth.

"What the-" he yelled, nearly going cross eyed at the sight before him.

Grasped in his fist and close to his lips was a rather fat, wart-ridden toad, that let out a comically loud _"Rrribbit"_ before Dakota dropped him, sending him hopping across the floor. Behind him, George and Lee's wands were out, pointed at the tray that had formerly held the mountain of pastries. They were practically holding on to one another for support as they doubled over with laughter.

"Hungry this morning, are you?" Fred said lightly, winking at George over Dakota's shoulder. He looked down his arm to see Ava laughing along, beaming up at him, and he winked at her as well, bumping her hip with his.

He froze.

"What...what is that?"

Fred was gaping down at Ava's side, particularly, at the hard medal object his hip had made contact with when it touched hers.

Ava's smile faded, and she looked worried. "It's a gun," she said in a low voice, nearly a whisper. "He gave it to me." She jabbed her head in Dakota's direction again, and Fred's eyes bulged for approximately six seconds before he snapped out of it, shaking himself and blinking a few times.

"Can I talk to you...in private?" he muttered to her, squeezing her hand. She nodded, and he began pulling her away.

"Something the matter, Fred?" Dakota called after them. "You look like a one-legged man at a butt-kicking contest!"

"Enough with the stupid metaphors!" Fred snapped over his shoulder, tugging Ava along with him until they ducked behind the thick spiral staircase, bathed in shadow.

She surprised him by immediately rising up on her tip-toes and wrapping her arms around his neck; pressing her chest and pelvis against his in a deep kiss. Lost in the moment, he reached forward to grasp each side of her butt firmly in both of his hands, but flinched again when his wrist skimmed the gun sticking out of her waistband. He sighed, pulling away.

"I...I hate that thing," he offered pathetically, shrugging.

Her expression softened, and she reached up to touch the side of his face. "I know," she said softly. "But...and please don't hex me for saying this...Dakota was right to give it to me."

Fred opened his mouth in protest, but Ava quickly continued. "Look...he's right! I _am_ a good shot. Granted, my extent of combat experience is shooting at rusty coffee cans in the old quarry back home, but I can make a hit."

Fred made a disgusted guttural sound and turned his head as though he momentarily couldn't bear to look at her. "You're...you're talking about shooting people, Ava!" he argued in a hushed voice.

"I'm talking about shooting at _Merryweather_, not people," she corrected him, narrowing her eyes, "and what the hell is the difference between me doing that, and you using this?" She reached forward to touch the spot where Fred's wand waited at the ready: fastened to his belt loop in a thin, leather holster. "The two are equally as deadly, if you ask me."

"Shooting at Merryweather, eh?" he said softly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "So you want to definitely be there? Really be there? Front lines and all?"

"Where else would I be?"

Fred paused. Frankly, his common sense was telling him this wasn't about to go over well, but it was worth a shot.

"I was...hoping you'd stay back. Here. With-with Ginny! Or at the flat. Home." He tried to end on a tender note, reaching out to take her hand, but she shook him off.

"Stay back?" she repeated back to him sharply. "Why in the world would I do that?"

Fred paused again, but before he could say anything, a look of realization crossed over Ava's face and she scoffed.

"You don't want me there, do you?"

"No," he replied both quietly and truthfully, finding it difficult to look her in the eyes. "I don't."

A few seconds of silence passed before she said something again.

"Part of me wants to believe you're just saying that to be romantic and protect me, but the bigger part of me knows that's bullshit." She studied him for another moment. "You think I'm going to be useless out there, don't you?"

"That's not it," Fred said quickly.

"It must be part of it," she countered. "And by the way, you wouldn't be wrong. The fight at the shop—you wasted so much time and attention trying to just give me something to do!" She threw her hands in the air. "Transfiguring a fake wand, giving me a pep talk! So yeah. If that's what you were thinking, you'd be right. I would be useless. That's why this-" she paused to rest her hand on the gun- "as much as you hate it, is pivotal. It gives me purpose. It gives me a reason to be there. I _want_ to face them, Fred."

"I know you do," he hissed in a near-hysterical whisper, leaning down close to her face. His voice was shaking. "But I don't want you to face them. I..." he trailed off. He couldn't quite explain why, but in that moment, his eyes were filling with hot, stinging tears. George's voice, the night before his wedding, echoed back to him: _You're falling in love with her, aren't you?_

Ava suddenly reached up, cupping each side of his face in her hands, her thumbs gently passing over his cheekbones. "You want me somewhere where you'll know I'm safe." She somehow managed to say it and make it sound like both a question and a statement at the same time, and Fred realized she'd filled the sentence he'd trailed off with.

He sighed lightly, and closed his eyes. "Yes."

Ava's lips met his, softly, a whisper of a taste the way lavender smelled. "I'm safe wherever I'm with you. I chose you to protect me, remember?"

Their foreheads rested against one another in a comfortable, accepting silence, breathing each other in and out the way they did the night Ava finally told the Order about Merryweather. Fred found himself pushing away his wishful visions of Ava curled up on the couch at the Burrow with his family staying behind, safe and together and away from the approaching fight, but it was immensely difficult. Ava—much like Fred—was stubborn, and he had to remind himself that she—again, like him—was on her own personal journey for redemption as well.

And the whole time he fought—fought to accept, fought to convince himself everything would be alright, fought to calm down—his chest was twinging, and he couldn't figure out whether the wall in front of his heart was crumbling away further or attempting to rebuild itself.

* * *

If there was ever a bad moment for a Muggle to stumble upon the Order going about their business, this was it.

The bronze-skinned man stood practically paralyzed, opened mouthed and staring. The wheelbarrow piled high with fishing nets and rusty buckets remained frozen in place before him; the black rubber wheel still halfway buried in the sand and the wooden handles remaining in his fists. He was shirtless and barefoot, donned in nothing but a shredded pair of denim shorts and a straw hat. The turquoise waters behind him continued gently lapping at the shore, a shallow tide even creeping up the sand to meet his toes, but he remained motionless as he stared up the small hill, into the open-walled hut where the Order had convened.

Fred sighed, realizing what a sight they must be—there were twelve of them: himself, George, Ava, Lee, Dakota, Kingsley, Harry, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, Audrey, and Vlad. They were assembled in a circled group, all reaching forward to collectively hang on to a crumpled, empty bag of crisps. Kingsley and McGonagall were decked out in their usual heavy robes; his green and silver and hers, a crimson tartan, complete with a tall hat. Dakota still wore his all-white Merryweather military gear: bulletproof vest, combat boots and all, and Harry and Ron wore matching brown Auror trenchcoats.

The twelve of them and the St. Kitt's native continued staring at one another for a few moments, unsure of what to do, until McGonagall whipped out her wand smartly and pointed it at the man's head.

"Obliviate."

The man jumped in place as though he had awoken from a trance, blinking rapidly, then reached up and patted around his hat vaguely as he turned away from the group, continuing his walk down the beach.

Fred cleared his throat. "Right, let's make this a bit more private."

He pointed his wand at the row of white, Bahama-style shutters that were pulled up and away from the front of the bungalow, leaving the entire ocean-view wall airy and exposed. They released from their places with a collective clicking sound and swung down, slamming on to the front of the bungalow and blocking the ocean view.

They all released their grip on the shiny crisp bag and Harry was left as the last one holding it. He looked confused and awkward for a moment before crumpling it into a ball and shoving it into his pocket.

"Only one bed, eh?" Lee called out from behind Fred. He turned to see his friend flopping down on the enormous four-poster bed, complete with flowing mosquito net curtains draped around the banisters. "Looks like the rest of you will be sleeping on the beach! Or I reckon you can all cram inside the outhouse in the back if there's bad weather-"

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Jordan," Kingsley addressed him. "Our bungalows have been specially arranged for us by the Caribbean Magic Consulate. There's one for each of us—except for you two." He paused to look over at Ron and Hermione standing beside one another. "I took the liberty to assume that as a married couple, you wouldn't mind sharing."

"Sharing a bed with _her_?" Ron pointed to Hermione with a look of mock disgust on his face. "I don't know about that."

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione hissed, but she couldn't help the smile forming on her lips at her husband's humor.

"This is nice," Fred said aloud to no one in particular as he strode around the bungalow. It was an open-concept, single room, with a tiny kitchenette on one side, and the bed Lee was climbing off of on the other. He made his way over to the front wall made of shutters and peeked through the wooden slots. Just down a small hill, more like a large dune, really, was the beach. It was blanketed in sugar-white sand accompanied by large boulders clustered together here and there, leading to an endless expanse of sea that changed from crystal clear, to turquoise, to emerald, and finally, to cobalt blue, in a spectacular natural display of ombre. "I dunno how you ever managed to leave a place like this once your honeymoon was over, George." He straightened up and looked over his shoulder at his twin, who was looking around with a rather disgruntled look on his face.

"Just wait," he said in a grave voice. "It looks all pretty and shiny and then _BAM_-" he spread all of his fingers out as if to mime an explosion "-before you know it, you're as red as a lobster and practically foaming at the mouth in anticipation of cloudy old England."

"Nice, indeed," Kingsley replied, deeply nodding and joining Fred at the shutters. "Potter, remind me to send some Fudge Flies and a bottle of brandy to our Head of International Magical Cooperation for organizing this for us with no questions asked. They are his favorite."

"Speakin' of drink," came Dakota's voice. They all looked in his direction to see him holding open a cabinet in the kitchenette with both arms, eyebrows raised impressively as he stared at the contents inside. He let out a whistle, and reached in, extracting a tall bottle of what appeared to be coconut rum.

"Don't even think about it," Fred warned him firmly. "We're not on vacation. Let's talk strategy, shall we?"

Although he looked disappointed, Dakota placed the glass bottle back into the cabinet with a clinking sound against other bottles and made his way over to stand with the rest of the group, who had formed a crescent shape to face Fred. Ava met his eyes briefly and attempted to give him and encouraging nod and smile, but for some reason, his heart was suddenly threatening to pound clean out of his chest with nerves.

"Dakota," he started, "can you tell us again what you've heard about what Merryweather is planning for tomorrow?"

Dakota suddenly straightened up, puffing his chest a bit and raising his chin. "Unfortunately I don't have the specifics. The extent that I do know is how they were excited that the student body is reasonably diverse. There's a ton of Americans that come down here for the Vet school, 'long with native Caribbean folks from all different islands, and even some Europeans who are lookin' to get their degree and transfer to work in the States. Apparently tomorrow starts the time of year when a week-long partyin' binge starts up. See, it's the first week of June which for them, means the last week of term. And like I said, there was a lot of talk about how the Caribbean authorities are a little slow on the uptake when it comes to crime, and, uh..." He trailed off to raise his hand and rub his thumb against the rest of his fingers. "Their silence is easily bought."

Ava was staring at the ground, shaking her head. "We have to stop them."

"We will," Fred replied firmly. She gave him a small nod, but the lack of confidence was written all over her face.

He shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Here's the problem I see," he said to the group, and he held his arms out. "A week long partying binge. How are we supposed to know where or when or how they're going to strike? Any idea, Dakota?"

"No."

Fred sighed.

"How about we have a couple of us get in there and do some spying?" George offered. "Ask around for the biggest party plans. If what Dakota heard was true and they'll be attempting to snatch students among shenanigans, they'll be picking the biggest, wildest parties, hoping that a random will slip through the cracks."

"I believe the word you're lookin' for is 'recon', not 'spy'," Dakota drawled. "Anyway, I'm in. I need some excitement. Whose with me?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Ava suddenly spoke up, reaching out and catching Dakota around the shoulders as he strode forward. "_You're_ not going."

"And why the hell not?"

"Are you mental?" Ron questioned him, a sharp edge to his voice. "They probably have their own spies trolling around for_ recon_. What do you think they'll do once they see you, share a pint and reminisce about old times?"

"Well what in creation am I supposed to do around here in the meantime, then?!"

"Nothing," Fred said firmly. "Nothing at all. You lay low and keep your head down. Same goes for myself, and you guys—George, Lee, Ava, Vlad-" he looked at them all one by one as he said their names. "We're the ones who've had firsthand experience with Merryweather. They'll recognize us out. Ron, you're to stay put as well. They know the Weasleys have their eyes on them, and your hair's too obvious, mate."

"Fair enough," Ron sighed.

"I'm sure they are familiar with the face of the Ministry of Magic," Kingsley said. "I suppose that puts me out of the running."

"And something tells me university students won't exactly be forthcoming with party plans when I ask them," McGonagall added.

Hermione and Audrey looked over at one another. "Well, that leaves us, then," Hermione said.

"No," Ron immediately protested.

"Ron, we already talked about this," Hermione said quietly, looking slightly embarrassed. "I need to get back out there and do something. I'm not porcelain. Have some faith, please."

'Sympathetic' wasn't exactly a main word used to describe Fred, but his chest suddenly ached for Ron in empathy.

"Let's do it," Audrey said enthusiastically in her high-pitched voice, nodding and straightening out her shirt across her petite frame. She glanced over to Fred. "What would you have us do?"

"Blend in," Fred replied, looking from her to Hermione. "Act casual, don't do anything stupid or try something on your own. Stick to the plan, we're just looking for information right now."

"Fred Weasley," said Hermione, shaking her head in what looked like disbelief, a soft smile on her face. "I'd have never guessed in a million years _you'd_ be the one telling _us_ not to do anything stupid or break any rules."

"Shut it," Fred replied, sharing a grin with George and realizing just how right she was.

* * *

Fred couldn't stop pacing.

He hadn't paced around in a while; in fact, he hadn't done this since before he met Ava. He'd spent countless nights awake when he should have been sleeping, pacing around the flat and worrying George half to death, no doubt. But tonight, as it neared ten o'clock, he found himself doing it again, taking some time alone as the others sat cramped around the kitchenette table, eating and playing cards to keep themselves preoccupied as they waited for Hermione's and Audrey's return.

"I feel like I'm going a little mad, too." Ron suddenly appeared in front of him as he reached the end of the room and turned on his heel to face the other way. "Waiting for them."

Fred stumbled to a stop and crossed his arms, chewing on the inside of his cheek and nodding. "Why did I do this to myself, Ron?"

"Do what?"

"Push to Head this mission," he replied. "I'm falling apart. I'm going mad. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"What's wrong with you, eh?" Ron questioned him. "This isn't the Fred I know. I'm sure this isn't the speech you gave George before you dropped out of school and almost set the whole place on fire-"

"That Fred isn't here right now," Fred replied, realizing that he sounded slightly insane. "He comes and goes but he's not here."

"Hasn't exactly made consistent appearances in about four years, huh?" Ron asked in a knowing voice.

Fred was quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure what's wrong with me, to be honest," he replied in the lowest voice he could muster without full-on whispering. "You'd think a bloke would be more himself and better than ever after dodging death, you know? But I dunno, it just fucked me up in the head permanently." He stared at the expanse of wall over Ron's shoulder blankly. "You think a part of me really did die that night, Ron?"

"Stop this," his brother said firmly, reaching out and grasping both of Fred's shoulders. "You remember what I told you. You're not broken. You keep telling yourself that until you believe it, you hear me?"

At that moment, the door along the back wall of the bungalow swung open, banging against the wooden frame with a slam. Both Dakota and Vlad jumped to their feet with impressive speed; Dakota whipping out his handgun and pointing it to the door and Vlad extracting his wand, standing nearly identically as the Marine.

"Are you two completely harebrained?" Hermione was the first one to step inside, with Audrey following closely behind. She stared at Dakota with an expression of slight disgust as he cleared his throat and lowered his gun. "It's just us."

"You can never be too careful," Vlad said in a deep, serious tone.

Dakota nodded vigorously. "Yeah, what Dracula said."

"Hermione, I was so worried," Ron breathed, his face white as he rushed over and embraced his wife. Audrey closed the door behind them, and Ron suddenly pulled away, his nose crinkled. "What are you two wearing?"

Fred had noticed it too; both girls had changed out of their original clothing and had returned wearing what looked like uniforms, made of a short-sleeved top and pants constructed out of a stiff looking, greenish colored fabric, adorned with a generous amount of pockets.

"They're called scrubs," Hermione said with a laugh. She looked over to Fred. "All the vet students wear them. You said to blend in, right?"

He grinned. "Well done."

About twenty minutes later, as the girls summoned extra chairs and sat down to help themselves to the leftovers of the meal, they finished telling the tale of the days events, complete with the gossip they'd obtained.

"I'm still intrigued about this mud pit party," Lee said, leaning across the table eagerly. "You said they vacate the pigs out of there and the girls dress in bikinis to wrestle one another?"

"That's not until the end of the week, unlucky for you," Hermione said smartly, rolling her eyes. "The biggest bash is apparently scheduled for tomorrow night. Like an opening ceremony of sorts."

"Merlin, I hope I don't die tomorrow so I can go to the mud pit party," Lee said wistfully, clapping his hands together as though he was praying.

"Nobody's dying."

The quiet sentiment had come from Fred. He continued staring down at the white table top at first, before looking up and scanning the attending Order members one by one, and ending on Lee. "You hear me? Nobody's bloody dying tomorrow."

"Well if you say it, I believe it," Dakota said, nodding heartily and slapping his palms down on the table as he stood. "I'm guessin' we'll reconvene here in the mornin', then? Work out a plan for _not dyin_'?"

Fred could only bring himself to nod tightly, and Dakota turned to leave.

"Oh!" he exlcaimed, turning around. "I almost forgot." For a second, his face took on a slightly more serious expression. "Make me not a Merryweather."

"Change your appearance?" Hermione said, leaning forward across the table to look at him at the other end of the room.

"Nah, nothin' that extreme. I'm too pretty." He smirked and stepped forward, and Fred rose to his feet, walking over to meet him. "I just...I still look like them, you know? I don't want to. I'm one of you now, aren't I?"

The room was silent, and Fred and George fighting the urge to say something witty and snarky back to him was nearly palpable.

"You are," Kingsley said simply. He extracted his wand and pointed it at Dakota's chest, and the whole room watched in wonder as an enormous phoenix rapidly appeared across his white kevlar; in a spread-eagle position so that the tips of its wing feathers touched the edge of the vest near his shoulders. It was ruby red and gleaming even in the dull light of the bungalow, nearly swallowed by night time.

"Well," Dakota said simply, staring down at his chest, and that was seemingly all he could muster. "'Night, all."

His exit to his own bungalow down the beach prompted a mini exodus of sorts; nearly everyone at once rose to their feet stretching and yawning and proclaiming it was time for them to turn in for the night.

"Remember what I said," Ron addressed Fred softly, clapping him on the shoulder before he left with Hermione.

"Should we all leave?" Lee asked loudly, shuffling the playing cards on the table. "I for one am not tired, come on boys, lets have ourselves another game-"

"Let's go, Lee," George interrupted him, grabbing his friend by the collar of his shirt and practically dragging him to his feet. He looked back and forth between Fred and Ava. "Let the grown-ups have a moment to themselves." He winked at the pair of them, and Fred offered his twin a gracious smile as the door slammed shut behind them.

Fred stared at the door after it closed for a moment before turning to Ava, who was still sitting at the table, and gave her a pleading sort of look.

"I know you're not a fan of the whole liquid courage thing, and I promise I'm not going to get stinking drunk, but please, would you let me drown my sorrows in a spot of whiskey?"

Ava's face remained blank at first, before breaking into a grin that looked slightly mischievous. "Make it two."

Fred sighed with relief, and rummaged through the liquor cabinet Dakota had found earlier until he found whiskey, bringing it to the table and setting down two glasses beside it with a _clunk._

Ava eyed him as he sat down beside her and poured into both glasses.

"I couldn't help but overhear what you were saying to Ron before," she said, watching his face closely to gauge his reaction.

He set the bottle back on the table and picked up his glass, downing a sip before he spoke. "So you eavesdrop now, eh?" He smirked at her and nudged her with his knee under the table.

She took a sip of her own, squeezing her eyes shut at the harshness of the drink before replying. "I call it 'creative listening'."

Fred laughed, swirling the contents of the glass and staring down at it. "Yeah. I dunno, I guess I'm having a hard time separating the common man's self doubt from feeling completely lost." He shrugged. "How the hell do I tell the difference?"

"Look," Ava said, taking another sip of whiskey, shivering, and reaching over to take Fred's hand. "I know I didn't know you..._before_, what happened to you, but from knowing you now? _Feeling_ you now-" she paused to squeeze his hand "-I don't think a part of you is dead inside."

"You might say different if you did know me before," Fred replied softly. "Arghhh, I just feel like I'm playing a damn volley with myself, like I'm driving myself mad, you know?" He emptied his glass and slammed it back down on the table a little too hard. "I promise myself to feel better, and then I do feel better, and then there are times like these where it just feels worse and I just can't seem to quiet the shit inside of my head-"

He was suddenly cut off as Ava leaned to the side, hanging off the edge of her chair, pressing her lips to his firmly and cupping the side of his face in her hand. His stomach jumped as the kiss lingered, their mouths moving against one another, the sharp and warm taste of the whiskey passing back and forth between them.

Ava broke away first, but kept her forehead pressed up against his, their lips only a finger's length apart.

"Tell the shit inside your head to pipe down, then," she breathed, and his pulse quickened again at the scent of the whiskey on her breath.

"That was actually making everything go nice and quiet, what you were doing there," he panted back to her, and she laughed softly, kissing him again.

He didn't know whether it was the gentle sounds of the Caribbean sea lapping at the shore, or the taste of the whiskey upon Ava's tongue, or the bundle of anxious nerves flitting about his chest at the thought of the looming fight tomorrow, but whatever it was, something inside of him finally released all he'd been holding back with her. Even in their most flirtatious of moments, Fred had been reigning himself in, constantly letting Merryweather and Gridgeon and what he'd done to her friend, Sarah, swirl around in the back of his mind, making him restrain himself, coming up with as many reasons as possible not to touch her the way he wanted to: _she's been through so much, she needs more time, show her respect and treat her like a lady; don't do to her what you've done to so many other women so meaninglessly._

But then came that mental release, and all of that faded away. He realized he'd been doing to her exactly what he'd begged so many others to _stop_ doing to him: treating her like a breakable object; a vase that had shattered into a million pieces and had been glued back together haphazardly, ready to fall apart again any second. Maybe she didn't _want_ to always be handled gently, maybe she didn't _want_ him to always hold himself back for what he thought was her sake. Maybe she actually just wanted to be touched, touched like she was a real thing, a real person who was breakable, who wasn't all the way back to normal, but touched and wordlessly assured that it was okay to have scars.

It was okay to have scars.

Fred leaned forward, sliding his hands under her thighs on her chair and pulling her towards him. She eagerly obliged; swinging her leg over his hip and straddling his lap, her knees hugging his hips and their pelvises grinding against one another. Their kisses were always that perfect symphony of chemistry and feeding into each other's needs; their heads tilted together, exchanging tongues and breathing heavily through their noses against one another's face. Ava arched her back, pressing her chest against his seemingly as hard as she could, determined to eliminate as much space between them as possible.

Fred couldn't put into words how enormously grateful he was for the way she was kissing him: like it was his last kiss, his last night on Earth, like he was the last person she would ever touch and ran her hands through his hair and around his neck and up the back of his shirt, memorizing what human contact felt like and absorbing as much of it as she could.

She suddenly took both of his hands in hers, and pressed them up against her breasts, as though she was giving him permission to touch her there. His fingers curled, squeezing her soft flesh as her chest rose and fell rapidly with excited breaths, and he let his hands fall to the bottom edge of her shirt, grasping it and pulling it over her head.

Fred couldn't stand sitting any longer, he had to move, had to touch her more, had to do something. He tucked his hands under her thighs again, rose to his feet, her legs wrapped around him, and shuffled across the room, depositing her gently down on the mattress. She sat up, curling her fist in the front of his collar to drag his head down, greedily kissing him; he swore he heard a couple seams in the fabric of his shirt popping.

Fred pulled his face away from hers and reached behind him to yank the shirt off from over his head, tossing it away on the floor, Ava was staring up at him, her eyes positively shining, and she slowly reached up. She placed her hands against each of his pectoral muscles, flattening her palms against his skin, dewy with sweat, and dragged them down, her fingers tracing along the faded white scars criss-crossing his chest. Her hands stopped to rest on the waistband of his jeans and she stopped, looking up at his face again.

She said nothing, only smiled, before leaning forward and planting a kiss on his abdomen, right beside his belly button. He was so preoccupied with the sensation of her lips against his stomach that he didn't even realize she'd managed to undo his pants.

Fred doubled over, leaning down and grabbing her face between both of his hands and kissing her roughly as he felt her shuffling the fabric down his legs; the rest of his clothing escaping him. He stepped out of his pants and kicked them away, standing in full nakedness before her.

His hands traveled from the sides of her face to her shoulders, gently pressing her backwards to lay on the bed.

He grasped the waistband of her jeans, snug around her hips, his fingers curling around the fabric firmly and feeling the warm skin of her pelvis on the other side. His groin ached, and with a bite on his bottom lip, he pulled the pants downwards. Ava lifted her bottom off the bed to allow the pants to slip off, and his groin filled with sensation again, even tingling and seemingly jumping slightly as he looked down at her, taking in her naked form in full display. Fred relished in the sight; she looked like a mermaid: her long blonde hair fanned out behind her, her arms extended backwards and resting on either side of her head, her legs pressed together and slightly bent at the knees, writhing her torso against the bed.

"Fred," she breathed, looking up at him and rocking her body side to side again.

And that was all he needed.

He stepped forward and brought his knees up, kneeling on the edge of the bed where her feet were. He reached out with both arms and rested his hands on her knees lightly, and slowly let them travel up her thighs. Ava giggled slightly, biting her bottom lip right back at him as a river of goosebumps rose along her skin behind Fred's touch. When his hands had reached the top of her thighs, he let them float towards each other, meeting in the center and then traveling back down. She parted her legs and he rubbed his palms up and down the inside of her thighs, feeling the warmth radiate from between them.

Fred crawled forward and rested his knees between her now-parted legs. He moved his hands from her thighs and put them on the bed, his palms pressing against the mattress on either side of her hips, and watched her eyes widen as he leaned down and brushed his lips against her; her legs on either side of his head parting more. He kissed along the top mound of her flesh lightly, gently, and then let his tongue escape from his mouth and press forward, feeling each side of her move apart as his tongue met the space in between. He could hear her gasp a little and her hips shuddered as he tasted her. He pressed his lips down firmly as though he was kissing her mouth.

Ava's fingers pushed through his hair and curled into fists, holding handfuls of it as she shuddered again, a whimpering, breathless noise of dreamy disbelief escaping her. He lifted his head, copying what she had done before and planted a kiss on the skin of her belly. She tugged on his hair and he lifted his chest off of the bed and crawled forward, his knees pressing against her inner thighs. Fred leaned down to meet her lips with his, and she wrapped one of her arms around his neck, and he was the one to shudder in excitement this time, realizing the deep intimacy of the moment as he passed the moisture inside of his mouth to hers, letting her taste what his tongue had just explored inside of her.

Their sternums were pressed against one another and Fred could almost swear he felt the rhythm of her heartbeat against his, their pulses syncing together. His heart was pounding hard; each thud hammering in his chest and sending echoes of a tingling sensation throughout his ribcage and abdomen. It was an amazing cocktail of excitement and lust and...nervousness. He was nervous, he realized.

Fred was no virgin; his years of depression had led him to sharing a bed with more women than he liked to admit, and mindlessly making love to strangers in an attempt to go numb had always come naturally to him. But something about this—something about Ava—was different. For some reason, his naked chest pressed against hers, their hips grinding together, made him forget about everything he'd ever done with every other woman. There was something about her body writhing under his that made him feel like he was about to take a tumble off of something tall, or melt like an ice cube left out in the sun, or burn up and curl away into ashes like a piece of paper set afire.

Ava pushed her hand down between their bodies and grabbed him, placing him against her and swelling her body forward in a wordless attempt to show him how much she wanted him.

So he pushed inside of her, because he wanted her back. He didn't just want her body, he didn't just want to feel wanted, he didn't just want the pleasure and desire she was showing him. Fred wanted to continue feeling the way he felt now, and every moment he was ever with her: breathing in one another's oxygen, reminding each other that they were alive, alive, alive.

He pushed into her, because he wanted all of that, every second, with her.

He pushed into her, because the threat of the looming battle was enough to make him finally push himself to go back to the way he was—to live like he was dying, all the time, throwing fireworks over his shoulder and cracking jokes and busting into every room like he owned the place.

He pushed into her, and as he did, he realized the tingling sensation in his chest had returned, and he finally knew what it was. The wall was not rebuilding itself.

The last of it was coming tumbling down,

Down,

Down.


	27. Chapter 27--Storm

**Author's Notes: ****Alright, guys. Here we go. Are you buckled in? This chapter is long, definitely my longest yet. And possibly my most intense. I know there's kind of a lot to process with this, and I hope I don't overwhelm you.**

**I wanted to present this really long, really juicy chapter to you guys in hopes that it'll make up for my slow updating lately. I still love and adore all of you and I still love and adore this story, but man, I have had SO MUCH on my plate, it's been hard to find time to write. Thank you, thank you, thank you too all of my readers, reviewers, faves, and followers. I appreciate you greatly.**

**Chapter 27-please review!**

**Chapter 27—Storm **

Fred was being assaulted with questions that he didn't know the answers to, and didn't want to know the answers to.

"Is...is she dead?"

He didn't answer right away; just continued to crash through the jungle-like woods, his mind racing.

_How did this happen?_

_How did everything go so wrong?_

"I don't know."

The purple glow in the sky brightened once more. They were close now.

"What about him? Is he dead?"

Flashes of red stirred around his peripheral vision, and he looked down to notice the splatters of blood across his pant legs and sneakers, flashing back and forth as he pumped his arms at his sides to run.

_How did it get this bad?_

"I don't know."

They exploded through the woods into the open field, the grasses waist-high and swishing against one another, accompanying the symphony of thunder rolling in the distance. Fred felt the first drop of rain hit on the top of his hair.

Something went whizzing by his head, and he felt a sharp splitting sensation on his scalp above his ear. It was a painful slice, soon accompanied by the wetness of fresh blood.

"Argh!"

Someone was calling his name in the distance.

A small knife stained with his blood landed in front of him, instantly becoming obscured from view and swallowed by the thick brush of the meadow.

Against his better judgment, he found himself stumbling to a stop, whirling around in fury, his wand raised.

"Whose there?" he demanded, his other hand pressing against the side of his head, attempting to stem the flow.

But nothing could have prepared Fred for the figure that stepped out of the woods. The assassin had another knife raised and an absolutely maniacal smile painted on.

_How did this happen?_

_How did everything go so wrong?_

_How did it get this bad?_

* * *

_One hour earlier_

Ava was dreaming, but of what, she couldn't discern.

There were colors and voices and some faces saying some things, with nothing particularly vibrant or specific. It was one of those dreams where you wake up groggy, instantly knowing you were interrupted, but as soon as you find yourself awake, the details of the dream seemingly begin leaking out of your ears and spilling on to the pillow, lost and never to be remembered again.

Something loud.

Her mind stirred to semi-consciousness, but her body fought to stay asleep.

"...ed!"

The warmth enveloping her from behind was torn away.

"FRED! AVA!"

Ava swore her heart missed a beat as her eyes shot open, her vision still slightly blurry, the heavy sensation of dread after being awoken unpleasantly spreading throughout her abdomen.

She turned on to her back, rubbing her face vigorously for a second, and when she opened her eyes again she saw George, standing at the foot of the bed she and Fred had shared the night before. His face had an odd shade of sickly grey to it, like the color of oatmeal, and his eyes were wide.

Fred sat up beside her, his face an outcry of what Ava could only guess hers was displaying right now: a mixture of panic, confusion, and the battle to escape the grogginess of still feeling half-asleep.

"What the-" Fred began, but George interrupted him.

"Get up now, something's wrong!" he yelled, and pointed at the closed Bahama style shutters, in the direction of the sea. "It's Merryweather, it's got to be!"

Ava and Fred turned their heads to share an equally terrified and confused glance for only a second before bolting out of bed on opposite sides, slapping their feet on the hardwood floor and jumping to stand. All thoughts of modesty and embarrassment were gone and forgotten as they darted around the bungalow in a panic to retrieve their clothes; Ava sprinted by George stark naked to retrieve her shirt still crumpled on the floor of the kitchenette.

"What...Merryweather?" Fred panted, jumping around in place as he fought to stick his second leg through his jeans.

George opened his mouth to answer, but the door swung open and slammed on the wall behind it as Dakota sprinted in. He'd clearly dressed in a hurry as well; wearing his crumpled white cargo pants with combat boots untied and no socks. His bullet-proof kevlar, still gleaming with the wide red phoenix, was velcro-ed around his bare chest, no sign of a shirt underneath.

"What in creation is goin' on out there?" he cried, his eyebrows pulled together in fear and confusion.

"Let's go," Ava ordered, pulling her long hair out of the neck hole of her shirt and jogging forward. Dakota threw a white utility belt across the room, his spare gun dangling from it, and she reached up to catch it with one hand.

"Good girl," Dakota said, nodding once and looking back and forth between the twins quickly. "Let's move!"

Dakota led the way, jumping out the door at the back of the bungalow and skipping the small set of stairs, his boots becoming half-buried in the white sand upon his landing. Fred and George followed him, side by side, with Ava closely behind, fastening the belt around her hips. Fred jumped off the stoop after George and stayed in place for a moment to catch Ava around the waist on her way down, pausing for only a second to meet her eyes. His brown ones were wide and scared, and Ava felt a pang in her stomach when she realized the excitement and warmth and closeness from last night had managed to melt away in an instant.

The four of them struggled to sprint through the sand, making their way around the side of the bungalow and heading towards the beach. The air around them was hazy and grey, and the cheerful Caribbean sun that had bathed the beach the day before was gone.

They jumped from the dune in which the bungalows all sat upon, perched on their stilts, and landed on the beach. The sand here was damp and springy, easier to run on, and they all ran wildly down the slight incline towards the water, following Dakota.

"Hey!"

A voice came from their right, and they turned to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione jogging towards them from down the beach, their bungalows off in the distance with the wooden doors still wide open.

"What the hell is that?" Ron exclaimed, pointing out at the water.

Amidst all of the panic, Ava had forgotten to actually take notice of what they were headed for. She tore her gaze away from Ron and whipped her head to stare out at what he was gesturing towards.

Behind a large cluster of half-submerged cliffs off to the left, was a pillar of thick, dark smoke rising through the air. It collected in a hazy cloud above. For a second, Ava thought that's what was giving the entire scene its grey pallor, until she saw the rippling steely clouds blanketing the sky above her as well. A storm was coming.

"Something's on fire behind that cliff!" Hermione cried as the two groups met, staring out at the water.

Another wooden slamming sound made them jump in place, and they turned to see Vlad, jumping out of his bungalow to the left, hurrying next door to Lee's and barging in, with an announcement of, "WAKE UP, IMBECILE!" in his Romanian accent loud enough to hear all the way down the beach.

"Hey...hey, it's movin'!"

Dakota's voice made them turn their attention back to the billowing cloud of smoke behind the cliff, and they all watched in wonder as they noticed he was right: it was moving, closer and closer to the outer edge of the cliff, about to reveal its source.

"What is that?" Lee's voice hollered as he and Vlad sprinted towards them, stumbling a bit in the sand.

"We don't know!" Harry yelled back. His voice was nearly swallowed by a sudden near-howling of the wind, quickly followed by the water crashing upon the shore in a small wave.

Fred's arms were raised; his hands resting atop his head and his fingers knotted in his hair as he stared intently, open mouthed, at the smoke.

Ava stepped forward to stand beside him. "You think it's Merryweather?" she asked quickly and quietly, unable to hide the panic in her voice.

Fred continued gaping out for a moment before shaking his head a little. "This is bad," he whispered back, not really answering the question.

Vlad and Lee stumbled up to the group, panting for breath, and Vlad suddenly swore loudly.

A collective gasp traveled through the group. The source of the smoke had revealed itself—just outside of the edge of the cliff, gently bobbing in the water, was a large sailboat. Only the white hull was visible, and printed on the side in blue, _Ross University School of Veterinary Medicine. _The rest was completely obscured by black smoke swirling around it as flames licked the mast and sails.

"What are they thinking? There could be people on that!" Ron cried out, his voice sounding strangled as he slapped a hand to his forehead.

"We're sure this is Merryweather?" Harry asked quickly. "Hermione, you said they'd be snatching students out of parties, not setting their boats on fire-"

"I said no such thing!" Hermione gasped, and pointed to Dakota. "He said it!"

"That's what I heard!" Dakota sputtered back, holding his arms out at his sides.

Ava was staring at the burning sailboat, trying to squint through the smoke and thinking hard. _Why would Merryweather do this? What's their angle here?_

"We need to find out if there's students on there," she said suddenly.

Fred nodded and looked to his twin. "George, I'm going to Apparate over there. If there's people that need help, I'm sending up purple sparks. You follow my lead then and come meet me."

"Are you mad?" Ron asked, catching Fred around the chest as he took a couple steps forward. "You can't be serious! This has 'trap' written all over it!"

"And we're supposed to ignore people burning to death because it may or may not be a trap?" Fred exclaimed, shaking Ron's arm off. "You follow my lead and meet me there if need be, got it?"

Ron's lips parted in anticipation of a response, but before he could say anything, Fred disappeared off the beach with a _pop_.

The group stepped forward, closer to the shoreline as though it would help see something on the obscured boat as Ron cursed under his breath.

"Shut it, Ron—I don't see anything!" George said, his voice panicked as his eyes concentrated on the boat. "Does anyone see him?"

A white bolt of lightning suddenly sliced across the steely grey sky, and directly following that, came another popping noise.

"Fred!" Ava exclaimed.

He had re-appeared suddenly in the tide, down on all fours with his head hanging between his arms as he coughed violently.

"What happened?" George demanded as they all sprinted forward to meet him. Ava crouched beside him and attempted to rub his back soothingly as he seemingly hacked up a lung, a vibrating buzzing sound escaping from his chest every time he coughed.

The tide rushed up to meet them, and the water covered Fred's wrists and knees. He raised a shaking hand, dripping with sea water, to his face and rubbed his mouth a few times.

"Bounced right off," he said in a strained voice, reaching up to grasp Ava's arm on one side and George's on the other and rising to his feet slowly, still coughing. "I could swear I was there for just a second, tasted the smoke, and then I dunno, I just got rejected-"

"It's because there's no clear spot for the destination," Hermione said, shaking her head. "If you can't _see_ where you're going, or even imagine what it might be like, or if you've never been there _before_-"

"We get it, Hermione," Fred gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching his chest as he coughed again.

Ava was fumbling around at her utility belt, finally unclipping it and letting it drop down into the sand. She took a few wide steps forward, the water rushing to lap on to the shore again and soaking through her shoes.

"Ava, what are you doing?" came George's voice from over her shoulder.

She unstuck her feet from the sand, sticky and stubborn with water now, and continued forward until she stood nearly knee-high in it.

"Hey, stop!" she heard Fred cry in a strained voice, but she was already raising her hands to cup around her mouth.

"Hello?" she screamed, bending slightly at the waist in an attempt to give more power to her voice. She couldn't help but feel completely stupid as she stood there, wading in the sea as the tide came splashing at her and soaked through her thighs.

"Hello? Is there anyone out there?!" she screamed again, but her voice shook as a shiver ran up her spine, the coldness of the sea chilling her as the wind howled again and the storm clouds above her shifted. She felt totally foolish and utterly useless; there could be students suffocating or passed out on that boat, and she didn't have magic like the others to try and help. She was just standing there. Yelling a lot.

Ava shivered again, and found herself crossing her arms, hugging herself. She turned to look behind her and rested her chin on her shoulder.

"Should we swim out?" she asked, hating the way her voice came out squeaky and questioning. _Weak_, she thought. She sounded weak.

Ava continued the mental parade of self-deprecation. The girl who charged out of the bungalow fastening a gun around her hips was a lie. This was the real her, it always was, wasn't it? Leaving her friends behind at Merryweather when she'd promised to protect them, getting that girl Ryan killed in the shipyard, hiding behind Fred in his shop as Merryweather attacked, crouching in the cauldron at Zonko's while the others confronted him. Now she stood there, in the water, screaming at a burning boat nearly 150 yards out as if it was going to actually do something. Just doing it for the sake of feeling like she was helping, honestly. In that moment, as the wind whipped around her head, her mouth tasting the bitter salt in the air and her jaw quivering, she hated herself. She hated the way she felt like a burden, like a potted plant; _there_ and _present_ but utterly useless. Maybe Fred was right. Maybe she should have stayed behind.

Fred had only opened his mouth to reply when out of nowhere, the burning boat exploded, shattering into a million pieces that rained down into the water as a fireball engulfed the mast and rose into the sky. Even from the distance, a rush of heat pushed against Ava's face and she squeezed her eyes shut as she teetered in the water, the surprise from the explosion sending her reeling and pitching backwards. Her butt landed in the cold water first, and then the back of her head came slapping down on it, her arms flailing wildly to catch herself and gasping for breath as water splashed into her mouth.

Two hands were suddenly grasped around her left arm and pulling her backwards, and her heels scraped against the sand underwater as she struggled to stumble to her feet.

"C'mon, we need to go!" Dakota said roughly, his grip on her arm tightening and swinging her upwards, trying to force her to stand on her own amid her clumsiness and dismay.

Ava finally regained her balance and stood upright, turning around and putting her back to the explosion as she finished trudging out of the tide. Fred jogged forward and gripped her right forearm, pulling her towards him a little.

"I've got her, let go!" he ordered Dakota, his voice still haggard and stale sounding from the smoke inhalation.

Dakota wasted no time; he dropped her arm in an instant and seemingly went straight into military mode, sprinting in front of the others and heading towards the remainder of the bungalows down the beach where Kingsley, McGonagall, and Audrey still remained.

He raised his arm and whirled his finger in the air beside his head as he ran in a "round up" type motion. "Let's move!" he screamed over his shoulder.

Ava bent down to retrieve her utility belt and gun, her fingers grazing the sand, straightening back up in a swift motion as she began to run behind the others. She shook her arm a little, urging Fred to let go so she could fasten the belt.

"Are you alright?" he panted to her as they powered up the beach, struggling to catch up with the others. George visibly slowed his stride as he watched Ava and his twin from over his shoulder, waiting for them to bring up the rear.

"I'm fine!"

"You're not," he insisted back to her, but it wasn't much of a time or place to carry on a conversation as they caught up with the group, climbing up the dune towards the bungalows.

Dakota was way ahead of them all; he took the stairs two at a time, furiously sprinting up to Audrey's door. It swung open before he even reached the top.

"What's going on?" she asked, dashing out on to the stoop and finishing buttoning her blouse. "I heard-"

As though right on cue, another monstrous BANG echoed through the air, making everyone jump and stumble a bit. Hermione even let out a tiny, panicked scream.

The bungalow to the left of Fred and Ava's, where Lee had been staying, had exploded rather impressively, releasing a fireball and sending shards of debris rocketing through the air much like the sailboat. Before the group could even recover from the first explosion, there came another, this time Fred and Ava's bungalow detonating and flying apart in a million pieces. Ava swore she felt the ground below her shake.

Audrey screamed and lost her footing in place, nearly pitching over the rail of the stoop as the stilts the tiny house rested upon made a creaking noise. In one fell swoop, Dakota leaned his body forward over the last remaining stairs at the top, swinging his arm out to grab her wrist and pull her away from the door to follow him down the stairs.

"Fred, what do we do?" Audrey squealed as she left the last stair and made contact with the sand.

Ava looked over to Fred to see what he would say, but he had an odd expression on his face, like he was trying to make sense of what Audrey had said, as though she had spoken another language.

"We need to get McGonagall and Kingsley out and then get away from these bungalows!" George suddenly announced, jumping in place to begin a sprint again. "Come on!"

Everyone immediately followed George's spontaneous take of leadership, running after him obediently through the dry, spiky grass the grew out of the dunes the bungalow stilts rested upon. Ava ran beside Fred again, and she couldn't help but wonder if the lump that was seemingly growing in her throat belonged to her or was radiating off of him.

Luckily the group didn't have to go far; Kingsley and McGonagall had apparently had the sense to notice the explosions from down the beach and exited their bungalows. They were running towards the larger group, but they were the size of pinpricks among the dunes; their accommodations the farthest away.

"Get...into...the woods!" George was screaming wildly, waving his arms in the air and pointing towards the thick expanse of jungle off to their right.

McGonagall and Kingsley veered to their left, dashing into the trees with their robes swirling out behind them, visible even from the distance.

"Stay together!" George cried out over his shoulder as he took a sharp turn to the right, leading the others into the woods with him. He ran alongside Dakota; with Ron, Hermione and Harry directly behind, Vlad, Lee, and Audrey scattered off to the sides, and Ava and Fred not far behind.

The group was swallowed by the thickness of the brush and the humidity that was trapped within it. Ava's stomach churned with the unfamiliarity of this forest; it was unlike the ones in Vermont she knew so well, and completely different from the one stretching out behind the Burrow where the Treehouse sat. The ground below wasn't springy with soil or crunchy with fallen leaves; it was dry and gritty, like dirt and sand blended together. All of the vegetation seemed scary looking, obtrusive; the leaves of the never-ending hedges and bushes were wide, pointed at the tip and shiny with rubbery coatings, fuzzy vines of ominous coloring like red twisted around tree trunks, and the humidity in the air felt so thick she felt as though she was fighting for more oxygen than she could get with every intake of breath.

A crack followed by a low grumbling suddenly broke through the sounds of the group's panting and scraping of sneakers. The eerie daytime darkness flashed blindingly white with lightning for a moment, more thunder echoing not long after.

"Of course!" Lee spat, swatting at a bug buzzing around his head to everyone's right as he jogged. "It couldn't have just been a beautiful day, right? There had to be an incoming hurricane as we dodged bloody explosions!"

There came some surprised gasping and yelping sounds from up ahead, and Ava clearly heard the clicking sound of a gun being cocked.

"It is us, you imbecile!" came Kingsley's voice.

Ava and Fred crashed through the brush to see a small clearing, where they'd apparently finally converged with Kingsley and McGonagall. George was sprawled across on the ground backwards, as though he'd fallen in surprise, and Dakota's gun was drawn.

"Well don't go sneakin' up on people in the woods while there are dang explosions goin' off behind us!" Dakota exclaimed, waving his arms around.

"Speaking of, what the bloody hell was all of that back there?!" Ron roared, stomping towards Dakota. His face was pink and shiny with sweat. He jabbed his finger at the Marine accusingly. "You said they were going to take some students from parties, we were going to intercept them! Not get bloody bombed at seven in the morning!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry that their attack was so early on in the mornin'!" Dakota spat back, his eyes alight with arrogant rage. "Shame you're so inconvenienced!"

"This wasn't the plan!" Ron shot back, stepping closer to Dakota.

"ENOUGH!" Kingsley suddenly announced sternly. "It is clear to me we have been betrayed. Particular interest for me lays in the Caribbean Magic Consulate, as they are the ones who arranged our accommodations. It seems that Merryweather may have eyes everywhere, more so than we thought."

"It's almost as though I've been sayin' that this whole dang time," Dakota muttered, rolling his eyes.

Kingsley ignored him. "And we haven't been bombed, Mr. Weasley . That would imply something being dropped down on us from overhead, and there was nothing."

"Well it wouldn't make sense if they were rigged with explosives, right?" Harry asked nervously. His hair looked double its normal size and his glasses were fogged. "Why not just blow us up in the middle of the night as we slept and be done with it, kill us off right then and there?"

In the moment of silence that followed his question, the cracking sound of a branch snapping upon the ground broke through, and jumped the group to attention.

"What was that?" Ava found herself asking aloud in a low voice, knowing no one would have the answer. The ones who hadn't extracted their wands yet drew them out, gripping the handles tightly, and Ava removed her gun from its holster. She pulled back the slide as slowly and quietly as she could, keeping her eyes on the jungle around her the entire time. The stillness surrounding them felt as though it was pressing in on the group, collapsing, the feeling of being watched setting in paranoia one by one.

"GET DOWN!" Dakota suddenly roared. He was turned towards Ava and Fred, looking over their shoulders, and he swung his arms upwards to hold out his gun and aim ahead.

Ava and Fred barely hit the ground before they heard the gun go off; the noise from it immediately summoned a high pitched ringing inside Ava's ears. A second gunshot, this one from behind Ava and Fred, exploded through the air, and a tree trunk beside Audrey exploded as the bullet narrowly missed. She screamed as she ducked, covering the sides of her head with her hands.

From their awkward position of being belly-down on the ground, Ava and Fred struggled to look over their shoulders into the jungle without lifting their heads too high. Whether it was because of the panic or the thickness of the brush or the fogginess of the humidity, the details were hard to make out, but Ava was certain she saw a couple figures in white darting amongst the trees.

Something small and circular suddenly landed on the ground beside her, bouncing a little and rolling towards her head.

"_Protego!"_ Fred screamed, whipping his arm around to point at the little ball, his wand narrowly missing the tip of Ava's nose. A tall, transparent silvery shield erupted around them as the scrambled to crawl forward and get to their feet, and as they regained their stances, the little ball that had been thrown exploded behind the shield. Ava was reminded of the similar effects of a grenade; the dirt around the area was sprayed into the air, the edges of leaves caught fire, and bark from the trees shattered and rained down, bouncing off of the magical protective bubble.

"_Bombarda!_" Vlad yelled, pointing his wand into the woods. An explosion similar to what the little ball had produced followed, accompanied by some muffled yells.

"Let's go, _go_!" Dakota screamed. No one had to be told twice; the twelve of them immediately sprang into action, running wildly away from the scene and deeper into the jungle.

A crack followed by the sharp _pew_ of another gunshot from behind them sent several of them screaming, scattering slightly and putting more space between the members of the group. The bullet landed in a tree beside Ron's head, and bark sprayed them as they dashed by like shrapnel.

"_Confringo!"_ Fred yelled, twisting his torso to point his wand between his and Ava's shoulders. Ava felt a rush of heat move past her head as Fred's spell sent another blast behind them. The ground level began shifting; gravity tugged at their bodies as the formerly even ground began to turn into an incline.

"Let's gather behind there!" George ordered the group from ahead, gesturing towards a cluster of dewy, moss covered boulders at the bottom of the hill. The group collectively veered left and leapt down into the small ditch of sorts, partially covered by the overhanging of the boulders.

The twelve of them pushed up against one another, leaving no room in between their bodies to make them fit behind their makeshift shelter. All of them were on the verge of collapsing; the smell of sweat was heavy in the air and they were all gasping for breath, none truly standing upright.

Gunfire assaulted their hiding space; at least three bullets ricocheted off the boulders, clouds of dust making the air hazy around them.

Audrey was crouched down close to the ground against Ava's calves, rocking back and forth on her heels as she held the sides of her head with her hands. "Make it stop, please make it stop!" she screamed.

Hermione dove down to kneel beside her, wrapping her arm around Audrey's shoulders comfortingly but glaring up at Fred, her eyes staring daggers. "Are you going to do something or not?"

"What the bloody hell are they even doing?" Ron cried out before Fred had a chance to respond. The front of his hair was pushed backwards and stuck straight up from running against the wind resistance downhill. "Burning the boat, exploding the bungalows, chasing us through the jungle—what the hell are they doing?!"

"They burned the boat to get out attention. To draw us out." Dakota was resting his shoulders and neck against the rock, his chest heaving with the effort of his breath.

Another metal bomb ball came sailing through the air, luckily an overshot, and exploded only about twenty yards away from them. Audrey screamed again, but she wasn't the only one panicking: the whole group flinched, crushing themselves harder against the rock.

"Bastards," Dakota hissed, and leaned around the edge of the boulder, firing his gun up the hill into the woods several times before turning back to everyone. He fumbled to reload his weapon as he spoke. "Then they exploded the bungalows to get us runnin' in here. Where they were clearly ALL—FREAKIN'-HIDIN!" His voice exploded into a roar as he leaned again around the edges of their shelter, firing his gun a few more times in between each word and cursing under his breath. Ava suddenly jumped in place, remembering that she possessed a gun as well and vaguely wondering if she should be doing the same thing.

"You're saying they planned it this way?" cried Lee, holding a pain in his ribs from the sprint. "To trap us? Did you know?"

"Course I didn't know!" Dakota screamed back at him. "It's just not hard to figure out!" He spit as he yelled, and pointed up the hill, jabbing his index finger towards the jungle. "They herded us. Rounded us up like God-damned cattle."

"_Stupefy!"_ Vlad exclaimed. He was crouching at the other edge of the boulder, opposite of Dakota, sticking his wand out the side. There came the sound of a male voice crying out and some rustling, as though he was rolling down the hill. Vlad rose to his feet and addressed the rest of the group, his face hard. "That is one. There are many more. They are going to come down that hill and kill us. Any suggestions?"

"Make a plan, Mr. Weasley—either of you," McGonagall said sharply, looking back and forth between Fred and George. "And make it quick."

Ava wasn't sure if she had seen Fred cringe or not when McGonagall had included George in her request for a plan, or if he was just making an uncomfortable face for lack of breath. Either way, he remained silent, leaning his palms down on his knees and looking up at his twin, waiting for him to say something first.

George was leaning the side of his head against the boulder, his eyes closed. He licked his lips before speaking. "We need to split up."

Although she thought it impossible, Ava felt as though her heart started pumping even harder in her chest. She thought about the night she'd escaped from Merryweather: sprinting down the halls, the white tile flashing cobalt blue as the sirens went off, screaming for Fox to slow down as she and Callaghan trailed behind. They'd sworn to stay together no matter what, and before she knew it, she'd found herself slipping out the doorway and into the tunnel alone.

"No!" she protested, her voice strained. "No, we have to stay together!"

"He's right," Dakota argued back. "They brought us here for a reason, we're surrounded! It's too easy for them, like shootin' fish in a barrel! We spread out and we got a better chance!"

"Fred," Ava whispered in a pleading voice, staring down at him as he continued bending at the waist to regain his breath. But he didn't answer her, he didn't say anything or look at anyone, in fact. She felt tears prick her eyes as the panic and doubt and fear overwhelmed her; she realized whatever courage or confidence Fred thought he had for today was gone and buried.

Whatever argument or protests that existed for George's plan were suddenly completely erased from Ava's mind as a small shadow passed from overhead.

"Gah!" Ron gasped, dancing out of the way as another metal ball came sailing through the air towards him. It had come from the forest to the left of the boulder, at the bottom of the hill level with them. He slid to the right, and it narrowly missed his arm; Vlad ducked and it passed over his shoulder.

"RUN!" Dakota screamed just as the ball hit the ground beside them.

Ava could barely register the sensation of Fred's fingers suddenly gripping her forearm as they tore away from the scene, running wildly in no particular direction at all to get away from the explosion that followed. The group unintentionally followed George's suggestion to spread out; they'd split off into pairs and trios to scatter and before they knew it, they were separated, tearing off into the forest without a plan.

Ava and Fred were level with one another; matching each others speed and remaining nearly doubled-over as they ran, keeping their heads and shoulders as low as possible as though they were charging at something.

"Wait!" Fred suddenly gasped, stumbling to a stop, straightening up and scanning the jungle around them wildly. Ava took a second to observe her surroundings as well, and it hit her with sick realization that they were alone.

"George! George!" Fred cried, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling into the forest.

The rapid-fire crackling of an automatic weapon echoed from somewhere off to the left of them, and they could hear Audrey screaming again.

"We have to move!" Ava urged Fred, tugging at his arm to get him to budge from his spot.

He shook his head back and forth incessantly, to the point where he looked as though he was just wagging it. "No, no, Ava I have to find George, I have to find him, I thought he was with me-"

_Adrenaline_. Was that the word? Was it possible that it was an actual, palpable feeling? That thing that people say can take over your body if need be, resurrecting courage and abilities and muscle memory in a time of need—whatever it was, that something drowned out Fred's words to Ava's ears as she saw a Merryweather soldier, dressed head to toe in white, his long cape touching the gritty soil, stepping out from behind a tree over Fred's shoulder, his wand aimed right at the back of Fred's head.

She swore she never moved so fast in her life as this moment; with her left arm, she grabbed Fred's shoulder and shoved him to the side, making him stumble and fall, and with her right, she plunged her hand into her gun holster.

Old West movies she'd seen always made this moment look so powerful, so epic: the stand-off, the _duel_, two cowboys facing one another in the middle of a dusty road and drawing out their weapons simultaneously, seeing who was the quicker shot, the better shot. The winner always seemed so cool, calm, and collected, his face remaining expressionless as he fired, killing his enemy and then strutting away like it was no big deal.

But this was a big deal, and this wasn't epic, and Ava wasn't calm and collected. She just let that thing—adrenaline, maybe—that same thing that had taken over her body the night she'd escaped Merryweather, the same thing that made her raise the gun in the hallway and shoot the soldier holding Fox between the eyes—she let it take over, and as the Merryweather soldier's eyes bulged, his mouth opening in preparation of a spell, the gun was already in her hand, already raised, and before she even knew what was really happening—she pulled the trigger.

Her shot landed in the center of the soldier's neck, right above his kevlar. Ava felt his warm blood splatter against her, and she stood frozen, her mouth hanging open, as she watched his eyes roll in the back of his head as he sunk to his knees and collapsed face first.

After the shot, the forest was completely quiet for a few seconds, the space filled only with the sounds of Ava and Fred's breathless panting. Her arms were still raised, the gun still pointed at the now empty spot where the soldier had been standing.

"Ava," Fred said slowly.

She jumped, and let her arms swing down at her sides, her right hand still limply grasping the weapon.

"I think he's dead," she whispered in a strange voice, and tore her eyes away from his body to look down at Fred. He was still sprawled on the ground where she'd pushed him, and his legs and shoes were covered in the scarlet-red blood splatter that she could only imagine was covering her.

George's words from the night before echoed back to her: _"Just wait...it looks all pretty and shiny and then BAM! Before you know it, you're as red as a lobster and practically foaming at the mouth in anticipation of cloudy old England."_

"Yeah, he is." Fred was avoiding her eyes and looking over her shoulder as he pushed himself to his feet, brushing his back and bottom off but not moving his gaze. "Ava..."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, slowly tucking the gun back into the holster. "I know you don't like the idea of me using that...and I got you all bloody..."

Fred shook his head, still gaping at the space behind her. "No, Ava...it's just...what's...going on?" He spoke slowly, and she never heard a person sound more confused in her life.

She furrowed her eyebrows, perplexed, and turned on her heel to see what he was staring at.

All sorts of things, bits of nature that had been littering the forest floor—broken branch pieces, shards of shattered tree bark, leaves, rocks-were hovering in mid-air, floating gently and bobbing a bit in place as though charmed. Some pieces were only lingering at ankle height, while others were swaying back and forth above Ava's head, and she had to tilt her head back to see them all.

"Did you do a spell?" she asked Fred, looking at him over her shoulder.

"No. I don't even know what kind of spell would do this, to be honest."

"Did he...did he get a chance to say anything before he..." she trailed off, staring down at the fallen Merryweather soldier's body.

Fred shook his head, still marveling at the floating bits. "No," he repeated.

Ava turned back around to face the peculiar scene, and reached out in front of her with her. With the tip of her index finger, she touched one of the floating items: a stone, no larger than a coin, still covered in the grit of the soil that they stood upon. It gently bobbed away from her, as if she had nudged a bubble in the air without popping it.

A large flowered bush to Fred and Ava's right suddenly stirred with movement, as though someone on the other side was attempting to shove past it. They both jumped; Fred pointing his wand at the movement and Ava extracting the gun again. The air was filled with a gentle pitter-patter sound as all of the floating bits around them suddenly fell to the ground.

"Stupid...darned...bush..._pfft_..._PFFT_...Lord almighty...HEY, HEY, IT'S ME!"

Dakota suddenly appeared through the thick branches, spitting out petals and pollen from his mouth and stumbling in place as he came upon the sight of Fred and Ava pointing the wand and gun straight at him. He held his arms out in a surrender-type stance, his eyes wide as he announced his presence.

"Oh for the love of God," Ava hissed, exhaling and rolling her eyes, letting her arms fall.

"You almost gave me a bloody heart attack, I thought you were one of them!" Fred cried.

Dakota ignored the both of them, he was staring down at the fallen soldier face-down on the ground with a rather impressed look on his face. "Nice work," he finally said, looking up at Ava. "You finally used the darn thing I see, after—_GAH_, woman, you'd do best to wipe your face! Lookin' like the Grim Reaper, bringer of death!"

Ava just stared at him with her eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"

Dakota's mouth and nose were crinkled. "I'll hand it to you, I'm impressed, but you got the man's blood all over your dang face!"

His words finally registered, and Ava jumped in place a little, scrambling to put the gun back in the holster and rubbing her face vigorously with her forearm. She pulled it away to look what she'd wiped off, and Dakota was right—smears of blood covered her arm. She made an unpleasant face and turned to the side to spit, tasting the bitter, iron taste of his blood in her mouth as well.

"Have you seen George?" Fred asked Dakota.

He shrugged. "Haven't seen anyone. I thought y'all were with me and then I kinda just realized I was alone."

Fred nodded. "Happened to us too."

"Hey," Ava said suddenly, taking a couple of steps forward to stand in between the two men. She pointed at the sky above some trees in the distance, where a purple glow was emitting from. "What is that?"

Both Fred and Dakota looked up to where she was pointing, and to Ava's surprise, Fred released something of a relieved-sounding laugh.

"It's George," he said excitedly. "Purple sparks has always been our signal. He's over there, come on!"

He crouched for a second to pluck the dead Merryweather soldier's wand from his hand, pocket it, then barely waited for Ava or Dakota to respond before jogging off, keeping his eyes raised to the spot above the trees the whole time. The purple haze faded but they continued on in that general direction, running quickly but as quietly as possible, their heads bowed and staying low.

Thunder rumbled again in the distance, promptly followed by screaming.

"_Stupefy! Stupefy!_ AARRRGGGGHHHHHH! HELP ME!"

The three of them skidded to a stop, whirling around to place the direction the voice was coming from.

"Is that Audrey?" Fred asked in a panicked voice. The sky glowed purple again as a single stream of sparks rose above the trees in the distance.

"Help me!"

"She's somewhere over there, come on!" Dakota took a sharp left, gripping his gun tightly and holding it low in both hands as he ran. Ava pulled out her own and copied him, determinedly chanting to herself over and over again in her head.

_Be brave. Be brave. You can do this. Be brave._

The brush began to thin out slightly, and Ava could see a wide open, clear area up ahead through the spaces between the trees and bushes in front of her. It was a roughly circular field in a sort of doughnut shape, the clearing a ring around another patch of trees and bushes gathered in the center.

Lightning shot across the sky, and an unpleasantly cold breeze weaved through the trees. The air smelled like rain, and Ava realized the incoming storm was as close as ever.

The three of them burst into the clearing just as Audrey appeared at the opposite side directly across, running towards them. She waved her arms wildly and it looked as though she was holding a piece of twig in each fist.

"Audrey! Audrey!" Fred cried to his sister-in-law, waving his arms back at her.

She was an incredibly petite girl; no taller than five feet, but she was running towards the three of them with astonishing speed. Ava squinted at her hands as they neared one another and finally saw it; they weren't bits of twig clutched in her fists. It was her wand, broken in half and useless. That's why she was screaming for help. That's why she was running.

"She's being chased!" Ava suddenly exclaimed in realization.

The soldier on the opposite side of the field stood out in his stark white uniform against the jungle behind him clearly. He ran to the forefront of the tree line, stopping just as he hit the clearing, and adjusted a rifle against his shoulder.

"Audrey!" Ava screamed.

"_Stupefy!"_ Fred cried, pointing across the field. Lightning flashed again.

But the soldier had already fired before Fred's spell even made it halfway across.

The gunshot echoed across the field as though it was the thunder accompanying the lightning. Audrey's legs seemingly stopped working as they simply slipped from under her, her eyes rolling in the back of her head the way the Merryweather soldier's had when Ava had shot him. She fell face-down in the high grass, instantly obscured from view.

"Audrey!" Ava screamed again as they ran towards her motionless figure. "Audrey, Audrey!"

Fred's Stunning Spell hit the tree beside the soldier, sending pieces of bark exploding outwards. He stumbled to the side in surprise, covering his face, and Dakota stopped running. Ava only had to look over her shoulder at him for a second to see him in a proper shooting stance like she'd stumbled upon him doing in the forest; his arms outstretched and his head cocked to the side, one eye closed. He fired, and the soldier with the rifle crumpled.

"Oh, Merlin, Audrey!" Fred moaned, collapsing to his knees as they came upon her in the tall grass. She was face down and completely still, a red bloodstain blossoming out from right above her tailbone, originating from the center, near her spine.

The clear sound of sparks fizzling through the air sounded, and the forest on the right side of the clearing was illuminated in purple for a moment. Ava squinted over and saw George standing upright, his wand raised and emitting the sparks, and Lee, Harry, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, and Kingsley standing around him, all with anxious, expectant looks on their faces.

"We have a Portkey, come on, what are you doing?" Hermione cried out, her voice echoing across the clearing.

"Why won't they help us?" Ava sobbed as they attempted to drag Audrey out of the tall grass, her motionless figure dead weight.

"They didn't see what happened with the chunk of forest between our sides," Fred puffed back, bending at the knees to lift Audrey into his arms, bridal style. Her head lolled back over his forearm, her jaw slack and open, and he stared down at her pale face in horror. "Ava, I don't know if she's dead-"

"_Carpe Retractum!"_

The spell came from somewhere in the woods that Ava, Fred, and Dakota had burst out of, and Fred sputtered in surprise as Audrey's body was lifted out of his arms and floated gently but swiftly towards the voice.

"I have her!" It was Vlad, making long strides as he sprinted among the vegetation, his arm extended before him as he ran, twitching his wand back and forth slightly and making Audrey come closer and closer to him, as though he was operating an invisible lasso. "They are coming! Get out of the open space!"

Fred's arms were still held out in front of him, palms up, as though he was still holding Audrey and hadn't fully registered Vlad had taken her yet. The part of his shirt above his belly, where her back had been resting, was soaked with her blood.

"Come on Fred, come on!" Ava cried, tugging on his arm. Vlad's words repeated back to her, again and again: _They are coming. _They ran back towards the woods that they had initially burst out of, following Vlad's instructions to move out of open view.

"Come on, let's get the hell outta here!" Dakota said, running up alongside them as they jumped back into the woods, bearing left and heading towards the gathered group on the other end of the clearing. "I don't think-"

But his words were cut short as two more Merryweather soldiers burst out from the other side of the thick hedge to their right, only about ten yards apart. The five of them all stumbled to a stop and stared at one another stupidly, realizing they'd been running alongside each other for a bit with only the bushes in between separating them.

Dakota was the first to move; he raised his gun, but it simply clicked in response. It was empty.

And just as Fred pointed his wand, his lips about to form a hex, both of the soldiers launched metal spheres from their hands.

Ava could feel her breath catching in her chest, her stomach dropping as she watched the two golf ball-sized spheres spin through the air together straight towards her and Fred, her feet feeling glued to the ground. Fred's right arm swung out to his side, catching her around the shoulders as he attempted to shield her from the impact.

But a blur of white and a cry of _"No!"_, the twangy Texan accent clear even then, leapt in front of them from their left, and Ava could hear the two light _ping_-ing noises as each of the spheres collided against Dakota's kevlar vest as he took both of the hits for them.

The forest floor shook a little and then came a vibrating bang, like the strum of a rubber band or guitar string wound too tightly. The sharp scent of pepper filled the air, and a shockwave exploded outward. Fred and Ava were sent careening backwards, back out of the forest and into the clearing again.

Ava slammed down on her side and rolled a few times through the tall brown grass, tears already streaming down her cheeks even with her eyes squeezed shut from the burning sensation all over her face. She came to a stop, and even though it felt as though the ground below her was tilting from side to side for a moment, she managed to realize she was laying on her back. She reached up and rubbed her eyes with her fists vigorously, the peppery burning sensation then traveling to her hands as well. They felt like they were on fire.

"_Aguamenti," _came Fred's voice, followed by a few coughs of his own.

A sudden thick stream of water came down on her face and hands, as though someone had dumped a bucket over her. She coughed and sputtered a few times, turning on her side to let the water escape her mouth, but she admittedly felt tons better, the fiery burning sensation all over her hands and face barely a whisper.

She barely opened her eyes, blinking dripping water out of her vision, before she was being pulled to her feet again and tugged, forced to run blind.

"Fred," she coughed, blinking hard again as he came into view in front of her. His red hair bobbed up and down as he ran, and his arm was extended behind him to hold on to her, pulling her along.

They plunged into the forest once again, and Fred pulled her down to the ground.

"We need to rest for a second," he said, sounding short of breath.

Ava felt as though she was fighting to stay conscious as her bottom made contact with the gritty soil, her back resting against a tree trunk and her vision blurring and swimming before her. She squeezed her eyes shut, and all of the morning's events played before her closed lids: the burning sailboat, the exploding bungalows, the gunfire bouncing off of the boulder they gathered behind, the soldier she'd killed, the oddly floating forest debris after, Audrey's bloodstained shirt and her slack, open jaw, Dakota taking both of the metal balls to the chest before they were blasted backwards. Her and Fred making love the night before seemed eons away.

Ava opened her eyes again to see him crouching before her. He had clearly doused himself as well; his hair was dripping and his face was bright red and wildly irritated.

"Dakota," she said, the side of her head pulsing. She swore the sound of her voice hurt her own ears. "What did they do to him?"

Fred wagged his head back and forth again, more water dripping down. "He got two. One was the Acid Bomb you were hit with the night in the alley and the other was the one Bill was hit with the night at the shop, the one that shattered all the glass."

They both turned to look as the fizzling of sparks was sent through the air again across the field, exploding in purple.

"Oh thank Merlin they have them both," Fred murmured, and he rose from his crouching position to stand before her. "Come on, let's go. We make a run for it across the field, I know it's dangerous but it's the shortest distance. They have them and they're waiting for us to go. You're ready?"

But Fred didn't wait for an answer before he grabbed Ava by her forearms and pulled her to her feet. She couldn't help but stumble in place a bit and squeeze her eyes shut again. Floating stones, burning boat, Audrey's blood.

She opened them and Fred squeezed her right hand in his left.

"We're going to make it, you hear me? Run hard."

"You said they...have them both," Ava sputtered to him as they began running through the woods towards the clearing again, hopefully for the last time. "They have Dakota and Audrey? You saw them over there? Vlad was pulling Audrey...is...is she dead?"

Fred didn't answer her right away; he determinedly tugged her behind him as they neared the treeline, another line of George's purple sparks rocketing through the air, signaling them over.

"I don't know," he finally said.

"And...and they have Dakota? What about him, is he dead?"

"I don't know."

They exploded out of the woods and into the clearing, just as more thunder rumbled in the distance. The waist-high grassed swished against one another and fought against them as they ran through, and the storm officially began, the rain pouring down as though someone had flipped a switch.

Something small and silver suddenly whizzed through the air, spinning between the right side of her head and Fred's left. Ava let out a small yelp, ducking down, and she nearly crashed into Fred as he stumbled to a stop, crying out in pain.

"Fred! Fred!" It was George and Ron, they were both screaming and jumping up and down in the woods behind an enormous silvery bubble shield McGonagall and Kingsley were producing with their wands, and they were pointing wildly in the direction behind Fred and Ava.

Fred was almost doubled over, clutching the side of his head as dark red blood leaked out between his fingers.

"What was that?" Ava gasped, touching his back and leaning down to try and take a look at his scalp.

"Fred!"

"Whose there?!" Fred whirled upwards, and he barked out the words, his voice a growl, his mouth forming a snarl. He was staring straight into the dark patch of woods behind them in the center of the circular field, still holding the side of his head. "Come the fuck out already, I've had enough!"

Ava followed his gaze, struggling to see through the thick sheets of rain that were now pouring upon them. Movement stirred within the shadows, and a heavy pit of dread formed in Ava's stomach, so deep and dark it threatened to suck her in and swallow her like a black hole.

"Whose there?!" Fred screamed again, taking wide strides forward and getting closer to the dark patch of trees and bushes.

Something was calling Ava without saying her name. Something was telling her to look into that patch of woods, and something was also telling her to look away and run, run hard, and never, ever look back. The pit in her stomach throbbed and she bit back bile in her throat. She'd never felt anxiety and panic of this nature, no, not like this, something was wrong.

"Fred let's go," she said suddenly, the words coming out rushed and without pause. "Let's go."

A flash of silver reflected among the shadows, refracting the little light that was left showing through the storm, and someone began laughing from between the trees. It was an absolutely hysterical laugh, absolutely maniacal, like someone hadn't laughed in months and months and they had been suddenly greeted with the most humorous display on Earth.

"_Let's go Fred, let's go,"_ it was a woman's voice, taunting Ava, mimicking her with a whiny, overly girly edge to her tone as though she was a child. "Listen to her, Fred. She really knows what she's talking about when it comes to leaving."

Annie 'Fox' Wu was last seen by Ava just over six months ago, on Christmas night. Ava was slipping out the door of Merryweather, leading into the tunnel, watching Fox get dragged away backwards back down the stairs, her heels squealing against the tile floor as she screamed for help.

But for Ava, in one surreal moment, the past six months caught up to her as Fox came stepping out of the shadows.

She was different from how Ava remembered her, no, not different, but wrong. She was wrong. One side of her head was completely shaved, the ivory skin of her scalp showing from under the new fuzzy growth of hair. The other side, her glossy black mane was longer than ever, and fanned out over her shoulder. She was grinning, but it was crooked, and one side of her face drooped a little. She wore all black, like how she had been before, but she was adorned and accessorized with various utility belts and straps, all sorts of weapons at her reach. A little dagger twirled between her fingers, wrapped in dirty bandage like a boxer wraps their knuckles.

"You," was all Ava could manage to choke out, Fred beside her frozen and silent.

"Me!" Fox chirped and held her arms out at her sides like she was presenting herself, or perhaps being crucified. "Merry Christmas! Oh! But wait." She paused, letting her arms fall, an exaggerated look of confusion and disappointment coming over her face. "I'm a little late on the uptake aren't I?" She shrugged slowly, protruding her bottom lip in a pout. "I guess I just get confused sometimes, Ava baby, because _you_ got _your_ Christmas present—but I didn't get mine!"

"Get behind me," Fred murmured, rolling his wand handle in his palm.

Lightning flashed and illuminated the scene, and it was bright enough for Ava to really take notice of Fox's eyes. They were unevenly dilated; one pupil barely a pinprick and the other, so large and dark it nearly took up the entire iris.

"Fox," Ava said, shaking her head once and letting her eyes travel over the girl's appearance once more. "What happened to you?"

"_WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO FUCKING KNOW?!"_ she screamed back, her face becoming twisted with rage and her boot stomping upon the ground. One of her eyelids began twitching.

"Come with us," Ava pleaded, her teeth chattering between words. "Come with us Fox, we can help you, we can keep you safe-"

"The last thing I want from you, is your help," she growled in a grave tone, and suddenly drew her arm back and whipped it forward again, the knife spinning from her hand.

"_Reducto!"_ Fred cried, jumping forward and brandishing his wand. The knife was reduced to ashes in mid-air, which sprinkled upon the ground. He adjusted his aim towards Fox. _"Stupefy!"_

Fox whipped her hand up. The red beam of light from Fred's Stunning Spell made contact with her palm, and refracted off of it, bouncing away as though somehow deflected. Fred stumbled backwards in surprise.

"You—you can't-" he sputtered.

"There will be none of that, so why don't you just shut up and let me talk?" Fox barked at Fred. She changed her attention, sliding her eyes and training her uneven pupils on to Ava. "You. I'm not here to kill you, not tonight at least. I'm here to let you know that I'm alive and well, bitch, and I'll be coming for you. You-" she paused, looking over to Fred again and grinning. "And everyone you love. Think about that, Ava baby, think about it every time your head touches your pillow, think about it every time you walk into a dark room, think about it every time you wrap your legs around_ him_," she sniggered, and pursed her lips, wagging her head from side to side a little. "Glad to see you've got yourself a nice life, babe. Enjoy it while it lasts."

"You-" Ava started, not really knowing what she was intending on doing but stomping towards the girl.

Fred suddenly swooped down, catching her around her middle and dragging her backwards. "We need to go," he said gruffly.

Ava squirmed and flailed wildly in his arms like a child throwing a tantrum and being carried away by their parent. "Fox! FOX!"

Fox was laughing again, almost doubled over in laughter, her palms resting on her knees. She slapped her thigh as though she couldn't stand the mirth.

"FOX!" Ava screamed, and at that point, Fred picked her completely up from the ground, running away with her towards the others waiting in the woods as she kicked and shrieked, desperately trying to claw out of his arms. "FOX! FOX!"

Fox raised one of her hands and blew a kiss in Ava's direction. "We'll be seeing each other soon, don't you worry your pretty little head now!"

It was the oddest of paradoxes then, as Fred carried Ava away from Fox, kicking and screaming, shrieking her name. Just six months ago, it had been Annie 'Fox' Wu being dragged away against her will, yelling a name, her desperation turning to anger.

"_AVA! AVA!"_

"FOX! DON'T YOU FUCKING DO THIS FOX! DON'T DO THIS!"

"_AVA! DON'T FUCKING LEAVE US!"_

"FOX! I'LL KILL YOU BITCH, YOU HEAR ME? YOU COME ANYWHERE NEAR ME OR HIM AGAIN, AND I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! YOU'RE A MERRYWEATHER NOW!"

"_YOU PROMISED US, YOU BITCH! ALL OR NOTHING! YOU PROMISED US WE'D GET OUT TOGETHER! AVA, YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU PROMISED US!"_

"FOX! FOX!"

Then, as Fred crashed back into the woods-as Ava beat her fists upon his shoulder, screaming her vocal cords raw, tears streaming down her face—Fox began laughing again, loud enough to hear over the rumblings of the storm.

Fred leapt forward, grabbing on to the branch alongside everyone else; Ron carrying a lifeless looking Audrey and Lee hanging on to a motionless Dakota upon the ground, his face burned beyond recognition.

The Portkey took them away, and somewhere along the journey, the black hole of dread inside Ava's stomach really did grow and swallow her whole, losing her consciousness and going limp slung across Fred's shoulder, echoes of the past still raging inside her head.


	28. Chapter 28--Roar

**Chapter 28—Roar**

A woman walked down the opposite end of the hallway.

It was a surreal, dreamy sort of vision to behold: the torches on the wall flickered, making an orangey glow dance upon the closed doors lining the corridor, and the woman was barefoot, her small feet quietly stepping down the white marble floors. Her blonde hair swung back and forth across her mid back and dark blue St. Mungo's robe swayed gently out behind her.

Fred froze in his tracks, the paper cup of steaming tea growing hotter and hotter against his palm, watching the girl until he jumped in place. He switched it to the other hand, hissing under his breath in pain and began a cautious sprint down the hallway.

"Ava!" he called out in an odd whisper-yell. "Ava!"

But she didn't turn, and Fred lengthened his sprint until he reached her, her pace still slow as she wandered.

"Ava, what are you-" he began, touching her shoulder, but immediately paused as she turned around.

It wasn't Ava. The woman had to be about forty, with dark brown eyes that were wide and confused as she stared at Fred, leaning away from him in alarm.

He withdrew his hand from her shoulder and attempted to smile sheepishly at her, but he had a feeling it looked more like a grimace. He wasn't capable of smiling at the moment.

"S-sorry," he stuttered, backing up slowly and nearly tripping over his own feet as her eyes grew wider, a hint of amusement twinkling in them. "Thought you were someone else."

"Yeah, I figured that," she chuckled back to him, shaking her head, turning back around and continuing her walk down the corridor.

Fred brandished his hand out to the side, shaking it vigorously as it smarted. In his sprint, the tea had sloshed all over it; the skin now an angry red.

Cursing under his breath and drying the outside of the paper cup with his shirt, Fred spun around in place for a moment, trying to get his bearings straight, before turning on his heel and heading towards Ava's room, which he had, ironically, sprinted right by while chasing the older woman.

He swung open the door as quietly but quickly as he could, blinking rapidly to let his eyes adjust and squinting through the sudden darkness of her quarters. He swung his leg out behind him, pushing the door shut with his heel until he heard it click.

"Fred?"

Fred almost gave himself whiplash turning his head so quickly to face forward at the sound of Ava's voice, the steaming hot tea dribbling down his fingers again from the sudden movement.

Ava was sitting up straight in bed, her legs swung over the side to face the doorway Fred stood in and her torso still tangled in the blankets, her body wrapped in a St. Mungo's signature dark blue robe. She was blinking hard as well, her face screwed up tightly as she tried to escape her grogginess from sleep, her long blonde hair frizzy and hanging limp around her face and shoulders.

He said nothing; just took three wide strides forward until he stood directly in front of her, their knees touching and her dangling toes making contact against his shins.

"Fred," she moaned again, and pitched forward on to his chest.

He held the tea away from them with one hand and with the other, brought it around to rest on the back of her head, petting her hair softly. She shook and she cried; her sobs muffled by his shoulder but loud and apparent in the otherwise completely silent room. He felt her teeth sinking into his shoulder just slightly as she bit down on it, another round of weeping racking her body and soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

"Hey," he murmured softly, at a loss for words for what else to say at the moment.

Ava pushed off from his chest to sit up again, her pale face splotchy with redness and clear mucus dribbling out of her nose.

"Fox," she choked out, curling her fingers around the edge of her robe sleeve to bring it to her face and wipe. "Fred, Fox was there, she was really there..." She let out a sudden, tiny hiccup and began vigorously wiping at her face again with the other sleeve.

Fred nodded. "Yeah. I know."

"And did you see when she deflected your spell with her hand, Fred she used _magic_-"

"I know. Here, drink this." Fred surprised himself at the calm he'd managed to summon and thread through his voice as he spoke to Ava, so even-toned and cool and soothing. Like Bill used to do; their mother in an absolute tizzy trying to tend to their siblings and finish cleaning before Dad got home and trying not to burn dinner, and Bill would swoop in, serene and confident, taking a wailing Ginny off of her hip with one hand and passing her a glass of water with the other.

Ava released a deep breath, her eyes still watery, and reached forward with a limp arm to take the paper cup.

She stared down at its' contents. The bright purple tea was still steamy, the white mist curling up and around her face. The top layer had a silvery, almost oily-looking sheen to it and tiny lavender colored flowers floated around the surface.

"What is it?"

"It's a compound potion, I got it from the Healer's Nurse down the hall," he replied. "Tea brewed with Dinwiddle blossoms, mixed with some Draught of Peace and just a drop of Draught of Living Death."

Ava looked up at him and raised a single eyebrow. "Am I supposed to know what any of that means?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "Just drink it, it'll make you feel better. I'm not out to assassinate you with poison."

"At this point I wish you would," she murmured back at the lowest volume possible, her face disappearing behind the paper cup as she drank.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," she said in a dejected voice, lowering the cup again. "You've had one or two of these already, haven't you?"

"Two or three, something like that," he replied with a wave of his hand and a small smile. "Just without the Draught of Living Death added in. Not ready to sleep just yet."

"Speaking of," Ava replied, suddenly looking alert, her posture perking up. "What—Fred, what time is it?" She scanned the room from side to side wildly in search of a clock.

"It's nearly five," Fred replied in a hushed voice, reaching out and twirling a thick strand of her hair around his index finger, letting his other fingers rest across her collarbone.

"In the evening?" Ava asked, her face becoming masked again as she tipped the cup into her mouth before him.

"Erm, no, actually. The morning."

"_What?!"_ she choked out, promptly sputtering on her tea and entering a coughing fit, squeezing her eyes shut. Fred reached around and thumped her on her back.

"You mean to tell me—I've been sleeping for, what, almost twenty hours now?"

"Shh," Fred urged, squeezing her shoulder. She looked confused in return and he shrugged. "Well you're not _offending_ me by nearly choking to death, it's just that you don't want to go waking the natives." He raised his eyebrows and jutted his chin out in the direction behind her, over her shoulder, staring pointedly.

Ava twisted around, and jumped a little as she took notice of the other inhabitants of the room. George lay curled up on the window seat, comically so as he tried to fit his height on it, his feet and ankles hanging off the end, his bottom sagging over the edge and his forehead squished against the glass of the pane. It fogged up, shrunk back, and then fogged up again as he breathed deeply against it in slumber. To the left of the window, Angelina lay sprawled across a plush chaise lounge chair, George's jacket draped across her chest as it rose and fell gently.

Ava turned back to Fred. "How did that happen?"

Fred shrugged again, and resumed playing with her hair. "Call it the Train of Neediness. I didn't want to leave you alone, George didn't want to leave me, and Ange refused to leave him."

"Hey," she said suddenly. She frowned and her brow was deeply furrowed as she reached up with her free hand, letting it hover over the side of his head. "Shit. I forgot she—I forgot that happened," she muttered. Her grey-green eyes were trained on his scalp, right above his ear where Fox's knife had grazed him. The Healers had removed a patch of hair from the area to properly mend it, and the spot where the gash had been now was just about smooth, a silvery-white scar in its place.

She let her fingers extend and whisper against the healed wound. "Does it hurt?"

He shook his head and smirked a bit. "Nah, not really. I'm just grateful the scar will fade and the hair will grow back, at least I didn't end up missing an ear like George. I'm simply too good looking for that."

Ava was clearly unamused; her face blank as her hand fell from his head. She scanned him up and down, ending to rest on his face again and lightly sighing. "Stop, Fred. You don't need to do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend to be calm and cool as a cucumber-"

"I'm not pretending, I told you, I've had more than a few of those potions-"

"And making jokes," she continued, raising her eyebrows at him. "I know what you're doing, and you don't need to be doing it."

"What's that?"

"Trying to joke around to be brave for my sake. Being the strong one in case I collapse, trying to make me strong in return-"

"Did you ever think," he began softly, interrupting her again, "that maybe, giving myself a mission, a purpose, making _you_ strong- is the thing that's keeping _me_ tethered?" The words surprised him as they came tumbling out of his own mouth; their deep truth sinking in around his chest.

Ava was the one this time at a loss, her mouth twitched from side to side as she searched for the right words to say back, staring down at the remaining contents of the paper cup still clutched in her hand.

Fred's hand resumed its journey stroking through her hair. "I really wish you'd drink the rest of that," he murmured.

"I don't know if anything could take away the crap running through my mind right now," she sighed back.

He nudged the cup with his free hand. "It will. And you want it to, trust me. If you don't let your mind relax before going to sleep again, you're not going to like what pops up in your bloody dreams. After all you saw yesterday...the blood...take it from me. Finish the potion."

She shook her head. "I don't want to sleep again."

Fred let out a single breath of a laugh. "Stubborn one, aren't you?" he said, nudging her knee with his.

She raised a single eyebrow again. "And you are...?"

He resumed petting her head, nodding. "Alright, fair enough. Just finish it. For me?" He felt slightly triumphant as she raised the cup to her lips one last time, tilting it all the way back and draining it. She leaned over, placing the empty cup on the bedside table.

"Fred, are Dakota and Audrey alive?" The potion was already working its magic; her voice was soft and steady but her face was undeniably fearful as she asked the question, clearly afraid of what the answer might be.

"Last I heard, yeah, they were. That was at around nine last night though, and they were still being worked on."

She nodded curtly. "Audrey looked..." she trailed off, biting her lip and looking away.

"Dead?"

"Yeah." She turned back to him, and her eyes were just slightly drooping, her face more relaxed now. "And Dakota...he took...he took..." she trailed off again, her jaw opening widely as she tried and failed to stifle a yawn.

"Both of the bombs for us. Yeah. But as far as I know, they're still alive."

Ava was squinting at him through the darkness again, eyeing him rather suspiciously. "There's something different with you."

Fred shrugged. "I took the potions." He found himself mentally cursing, knowing she would literally feel the lack of full disclosure flowing between them.

"No, not that. It's not the serene calm, it's this...it's this eerie calm, behind it, like you're wearing a mask. Fred did someone die, please tell me if someone died, please, I can handle it-"

"No one's dead, Ava. Me and George have just been talking quite a bit while you've been out."

"About?" she pressed. Behind her, Angelina murmured something in her sleep and rolled over in the chaise.

"We're just going to be making some changes, that's all," he whispered, rubbing her arms up and down with both of his palms. Her eyelids were drooping heavily now, and she was beginning to sway.

"What kind of changes?" she managed to get out, her words murmured and slurred as she fought off sleep.

"I'll tell you later." He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead and gently pushing down on her shoulders. "Lay down, okay? Turn on your side and face the window."

She sleepily obliged, collapsing back down on the mattress, her head sinking into the pillow, and rolled on to her right side.

Fred pushed his shoes off with each of his heels, and quietly slipped into the small bed, shimmying himself under the blankets along with her and laying on his right side as well. She snuggled up against him until they were fitting together perfectly like spoons layered in a cutlery drawer; their legs curled around one another, her bottom pushing into his hips and her back against his chest. He slung his left arm around her waist and held her against him.

"Look out the window," he murmured into her hair. "Try to see above George's fat head."

She shook against him a single time with a breath of laughter. "The sky is lightening," she replied amidst another yawn.

"It's violet. The worst is over and we're safe now, remember?"

"Mm-hm," she hummed back in response. "Violet. The worst is...it's over...and safe now." She was barely moving her lips at this point, and Fred could see the edge of her eyelashes fluttering shut.

"The sky is violet, the worst is over and we're safe now," he repeated, but she was already asleep.

* * *

The enormous clock suspended above the entrance to the Intensive Care Wing began tolling just as Ava and Fred approached it, announcing to all of St. Mungo's that it was 11:00 in the morning.

It hung high above everyone's heads, halfway up to the ceiling, placed in the center of a marble archway inscribed with Latin: _**Tempus est essentiae, Dum vita est in manu tua.**_

'Time is of the essence, when life is in your hands'.

"I always hated that thing," Fred muttered to Ava as they passed beneath the archway.

Ava looked over her shoulder at the clock as they walked away from it. "Why?"

Fred shrugged. "I stayed in this wing of the hospital the entire six months I was here after the Battle. That clock tolls bells somewhere in the ceiling on the hour—_every single fucking_ _hour_, day or night," he responded, vaguely gesturing up to the rafters above their heads.

"So you hated it because what, it woke you up in the middle of the night?"

"No," Fred responded. "It just kind of made me feel like Death was approaching. Like each time the bells tolled it was a bloody countdown to the end."

"Thats..." Ava trailed off, trying to find the words to say. Fred slid his gaze over to her as they walked, awaiting to hear the rest of the sentence.

"Morbid," she finished, grimacing.

"Call it what you want, but I guarantee you Dakota hates it too," Fred said, elbowing her lightly as they slowed and approached the wing's main Reception desk.

The Intensive Care Wing looked slightly different than the rest of the hospital: the hallways that branched out from the Reception area were much wider, and the rooms were more spaced out between one another. It was also brighter; the other units of the hospital flickered with the orangey glow of charmed torches, but the spaces here were illuminated with blindingly white spheres that hovered and bounced gently along the ceiling.

The Reception area was crowded, absolutely bombarded with people, just as Fred remembered it. Parchment notes folded into bird-like shapes flitted about above everyone's heads, making whizzing sounds as they flew through the air to various destinations—down hallways, some diving behind the Reception desk into a basket labeled 'INBOX', some heading straight for Healers who, apparently accustomed to the chaos and rather violent paper birds, would reach up and catch the notes in mid-air with astonishing reflexes.

Against the wall was an L shaped desk, nearly twenty yards long. Behind it bustled a dozen witches and wizards hurriedly doing tasks such as organizing hanging clipboards, hurriedly reading the incoming flying notes and scribbling replies, and leaning over the desk to give information to visitors. The area behind the desk expanded into an enormous, circular open room, lined with countless shelves that were stuffed with files, like a miniature library. Healers and their Nurses swarmed the short branch of the desk with a raised countertop, where several small owls stood perched calmly. The Healer or Nurse shouted a name—presumably a patient's—to an available owl, and Ava watched in wonder as the owl would nod attentively as though it understood English, and then take off, flying behind the desk and swooping in and out of the endless rows of shelving. It would come back about a minute later, a folder bursting with parchment clutched in its talons. The Healer or Nurse would take the file, briefly thanking the owl with a treat from their pocket or a pat to the head, and dash away down the hall.

"How are we ever going to make it through this mess?" Ava groaned, standing on her tip-toes to get a better view of the desk. A small group of witches stood in front of her, all wearing tall, elaborate hats and also trying to push their way to the front.

"Don't need to," Fred replied simply, and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Patient room list, please?" he called out, his voice echoing a bit around the chamber. The group of witches turned around to stare at him, and Ava danced out of the way to avoid one of their wide brimmed hats-adorned with what looked like turkey feathers-hitting her in the face.

One of the wizards behind the desk, a middle aged man hunched over the Inbox basket as he scribbled a reply to a note, pulled his wand out of his pocket and pointed it across the room at the opposite wall behind Fred and Ava, without saying anything or even looking up. Fred grabbed Ava's arm to turn her and steered her out of the sea of people.

The opposite wall the wizard had pointed his wand to was covered with an oversized chalkboard, at least four yards tall and five wide. Scrawled upon it in white chalk was what looked like daily announcements: the weather forecast for the day (24*C), the lunch menu (The Gunhilda of Gorsemoor Memorial Cafeteria's proud dish of the day is: Tandoori Dragon!), an educational section for "Disease of the Day" (1st July, 2002: SCROFUNGULUS!) and general advisories (Kindly keep in mind sending Howlers to Healers/Nurses for unsatisfactory medical treatment is against the law!/Please do not swat at flying paper notes, they WILL bite.) As the wizard pointed his wand over and Ava and Fred turned around to face it, the smooth slate of the board suddenly took on a tiled appearance, and each of the pieces began flipping over rapidly, until the old announcements were gone and replaced with several columns of an extensive list. Each point showed what appeared to be a last name with a number beside it.

"Ava, remember 62, that's Weasley, for Audrey...what's Dakota's last name again?"

"Murray," Ava replied, tilting her head back and scanning the list as well.

"Ah, there it is...room 16. Come on, we'll see him first." Fred's hand slipped into Ava's and they began making their way down the hallway closest to them, a sign hanging above reading: Rooms 1-20.

"It's busy here," Ava remarked, marveling at the traffic around them. "I thought since this was Intensive Care it would be a little...I don't know, quieter."

"Lot's of people come popping out of the bloody woodwork when there's someone dying," Fred muttered back.

Ava turned her head and looked up slightly at his face as they walked. "Is that what happened to you?"

Fred continued staring straight ahead. "Dunno, actually. You'd have to ask George." He laughed lightly and shook his head once, as though he was remembering something.

"George?"

"Yeah. First few days I was awake I heard him outside the door, sounded like constant arguing, telling people to sod off and leave me alone."

Ava suddenly remembered a couple of months ago when George had come to her in the Treehouse to do her final burn treatments, how he'd urged her to see Fred and she'd found out about his chronic pain. He had told her what the first few days of Fred's stay in the hospital were like: _"I had some people from the Ministry, and Gringott's—the bank—swarming me, urging me to compose a will for him and get his affairs in order before he actually died."_

She found herself cringing at the memory, but before she could say anything, they came to a stop outside a closed door, a tab jutting out from the wall declaring the room as number 16. Panic inexplicably rose through her chest as Fred reached for the handle.

"Just...just wait a second Fred-" she started rambling, butterflies flitting about her belly. All she could suddenly think about was how Dakota had looked before she'd blacked out as they took the Portkey: laying limply upon the ground, Lee clutching his arm, and the exposed side of his face—raw and mottled and red, his features twisted with burns.

But she was too late; Fred had already opened the door and it was swinging out before them.

The room was serenely quiet and neat looking, nothing strewn about or out of place. Sunlight streamed through the windows against the far wall, and along the right side was Dakota's bed. He was laying on his back, his legs and waist under a pale pink blanket but his shirtless chest and arms exposed, wrapped with white bandaging. But it was his face that was really capturing Ava's attention: his eyes were closed, and the left side, facing them, was more or less completely unmarred. It was slightly splotchy with irritation, but otherwise normal looking; his short, golden-brown hair messy but still there, his naturally tan skin smooth, with stubble growing along his square jawline.

Ava could feel her face twisting in confusion as the vision of him with his burned face on the jungle floor flashed through her mind again. Had she imagined it?

"I thought-" she began, but as soon as she started, she stopped—at the sound of the door clicking shut behind them and Ava's voice breaking through the silence, Dakota's left eye was fluttering open.

"Hey," he rasped, his voice beyond strained and hoarse, turning his head slowly to look at them.

Ava gulped at the unpleasant sensation that was happening in her chest and belly; it felt as though her heart was plunging down through her sternum, into her intestines and threatening to fall out her butt.

She understood now, as he turned to face them, what had happened—his face was like the symbol of yin and yang, the left side nearly perfect save for the splotchy irritation, the right side, completely covered in thick bandage, as though he was preparing to be mummified. There was a tiny opening where his nose was covered for his nostril, and the bandage curved around his mouth, framing it. For just a second, Ava found herself thinking about the trip to New York City she and her mother had taken for her twelfth birthday—they'd seen a play, about a masked man whose white face covering curved around the same way Dakota's bandaging did, what was it?

"Well, are y'all just gonna stand there?" Dakota choked out, the left side of his mouth attempting a slight smirk but the rippling, scarred right side remaining motionless and drooping. It looked as though his lips on that side were nearly completely burned off.

_'The Phantom of the Opera'._ That was it.

"'Course not." Fred spoke first, giving Ava's hand a light squeeze before letting go and stepping forward, walking slowly towards Dakota's bed. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets as he did so, his shoulders hunched sheepishly. "Erm...I suppose the polite thing to say would be to ask how you're feeling, but that somehow seems wildly inappropriate."

Dakota was suddenly obscured from her vision as Fred stood at his bedside, but she could hear him releasing a light, raspy chuckle at Fred's words. Her feet felt like they were glued to the floor and her hands were curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the urge to turn on her heel and run away.

_Stop being a fucking coward_, she scolded herself, took a deep breath, and stepped forward to stand beside Fred.

Dakota stared up at them expectantly, his left eye blinking slowly.

"How's your other eye?" Fred asked awkwardly, gesturing vaguely towards the right side of his face, completely covered by bandage.

Dakota rolled his left one. "Wouldn't know, I suppose it's in the garbage somewhere by now. They told me they had to remove that sucker. Asked me if I wanted to take a gander at their artificial ones they could insert, bragged how they could make me see out of the back of my head and all." He let out another single, breathless laugh. "Told 'em to go fuck themselves."

Fred laughed along with him. "Excellent."

As though an explosion had gone off internally, Ava suddenly burst into tears, crying out and sobbing, sharp tears pricking at her eyes and her lower lip trembling. She brought her hands up to cover her face, her palms becoming soaked in the process.

"What'd I say?" she heard Dakota exclaiming. "Dang, do I really look that hideous, drivin' girls to tears?"

"Ava," Fred was saying in her ear soothingly, his hands tugging at hers, urging her to uncover her face. "Look at him. You can cry all you want but just open your eyes and look at him, okay?"

"I don't...want to."

"Look at him," Fred repeated firmly, and Ava sighed heavily into her hands, her breath shaking, and let them fall away from her face.

She was hoping the past minute had been just a hallucination; she was hoping she would open her eyes and see Dakota laying there whole, unmarred. But nothing had changed, he remained laying there, his left eyebrow raised at her.

"Girl I swear, I'm about to start hangin' a little collection bucket under your chin to gather all your darn tears. Use 'em to water crops in third world countries or somethin'."

Ava couldn't fight the laughter that escaped her at his words, and then Fred and Dakota were laughing too, and the ghost of tension and awkwardness was suddenly banished from the room.

She wiped her face with her sleeves. "I'm sorry," were the first words that came to mind. "That this happened," she quickly tacked on.

Dakota managed something of a shrug, slightly wincing in pain as he raised his shoulders and the bandaging around his chest pulled. "Wasn't you that threw the bombs, was it?"

She laughed again for just a second, shaking her head. "No."

"Then don't be sorry. I'm not."

Ava could feel Fred sigh heavily beside her, and she realized the sensation of guilt swarming around her chest was coming from the both of them as they stared down at Dakota.

"You're not?" It was Fred that spoke, and his voice was suddenly soft and grave.

"Nah," Dakota responded. Ava stared intently at him, trying to discern if the courage and dismissive tone in his voice was real or forced.

"I mean, I think I'm goin' to look kinda badass, you know? Like Two-Face."

"Two-Face?" Fred repeated back to him.

Dakota raised his available eyebrow again and dipped his chin to touch his chest. "You know, from the Batman comic books. Two-Face, Harvey Dent! Aw come on, neither of y'all?!" he looked back and forth between Fred and Ava in apparent disbelief.

They both shrugged, and Dakota clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, sounding disappointed. "Un-bel-ievable," he murmured exaggeratedly as though it was three separate words.

"Well...the good news is, they have some really good stuff for these burns," Ava offered. "I took one of the Acid Bombs a few months back and they completely healed it...see?" She spun around, raising her shirt a little and displaying her hips and lower back.

"I don't see anything," Dakota replied, and she turned back around, smiling triumphantly and pulling her shirt back down.

"Exactly."

"What'd they use on you? That teapot-lookin' thing, the Twirly Poofer?"

"Whirly Puffer," Fred corrected, throwing his head back in laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, tomato, tome-ah-toe," Dakota shot back, the left side of his mouth grinning and the right continuing to droop. "Can't keep up with all your magical sayings. Anyway, they already said they can't use it on me."

"What?" Ava asked, exchanging a look of concern with Fred before looking back down at Dakota again. "Why not?"

"They tried it already last night and said it wasn't workin'," he offered back, shrugging a little and grimacing again. "Said you have to treat burns immediately with it or else it's kinda useless."

"And what took them so long to bloody start?" Fred demanded.

Dakota lifted his arm and jabbed towards his right covered eye socket with his index finger. "They were tryin' to save my darn eyeball first, apparently." He frowned deeply on the left side of his face. "If I would've been awake, I would've just told 'em, screw my eye, and work on my pretty face."

A sort of uncomfortable silence followed, and Fred shoved his hands deep in his pockets again. "Dakota...do you want us to...call someone? Your parents, maybe?"

Dakota snorted. "_Call?_ Don't tell me you actually know how to operate a telephone?"

Fred rolled his eyes and tilted his head to the side arrogantly. "What?! Of course I know how to operate a telephone."

They stared at one another for a few seconds in silence, and Ava gaped at Fred with her eyebrows raised. She couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not; did he actually know how to make a phone call?

He suddenly burst out laughing and threw his hands in the air. "Oh who am I fucking kidding, no, I definitely _do not_ know how to operate a telephone, but it can't be too hard, can it?"

Dakota chuckled and shook his head. "Well, thanks for the offer, but no, I don't want anyone talkin' to my parents."

another silence.

"I, uh..." Dakota trailed off, clearing his throat a little and grimacing as he did so. "I haven't talked to them in years, to be honest."

"_Why?"_ Ava asked, jumping and blushing as she realized she sounded more sharp than she meant to. She'd let her own thoughts project on to him; her mind was suddenly filled with images and sounds: her mother's tomato plants, her father's laugh. She meant to only ask Dakota why he hadn't spoken to his parents in years, but the underlying message was threaded through her voice and obvious: Her '_Why?'_ had sounded an awful lot like,_'I'd give anything to talk to my parents.'_

"Because here's how it would go," Dakota replied in a sassy tone, lifting his hand to the side of his face with his thumb and pinky outstretched, miming a phone call. _"Taylor, Taylor, Taylor?"_ he imitated in an overly girlish voice, one that Ava could only guess was supposed to be his mother's. "No, no, no," he said back in his own. He let his hand fall and made a frustrated guttural sound. "I don't need to be hearin' their tearful voices and lettin' them down on a weekly basis. We'll talk when the mission is complete. When I find Taylor."

At his last word, a large section of the right side of his disfigured lip that had been looking ominously flaky split, and he hissed in pain as tiny pinpricks of blood burst forth along the seam of the mottled flesh.

"Damnit," he muttered, and swiped a small pot of what looked like lip balm off of his bedside table. He unscrewed the cap and dipped a finger in, bringing it up to his face and then cursing in pain again, jumping and pulling his finger back.

"Let me," Ava said gently, and left Fred's side to walk around to the other edge of the bed. She was now standing at Dakota's right side, and she was close enough to see the details of his injuries further. The covered burns on his face continued outwards into his scalp, the first inch of his hairline gone and scarred over, and his ear looked like it had been mauled by a dog or something.

"You don't have to-"

"It's okay," Ava interrupted him, her voice taking on a soothing tone again as she took the pot from Dakota's hand and applied some on her finger. She bent at the waist until her face was close to his, and brought her finger to the right side of his lips. They were swollen, scaly, and resembled ground meat; completely twisted and taking on a yellow tone beneath the destroyed skin.

Right before her finger touched his lips, she shifted her eyes upwards and made contact with Fred's. He had an odd expression on his face; somewhere between softness and awe and something else, something unnameable. The way he was looking at her made her stomach do a funny little backflip. He nodded once, and she nodded back, turning her attention back to Dakota and gently touching the salve to and around his lips.

She made her way back around to the other side of the bed again, and placed the pot back on the bedside table, straightening up and folding her arms across her chest. Dakota suddenly wouldn't look at either of them, his head was turned away and he was staring out the window.

"Why did you do it?" Ava suddenly found herself asking. The question had been raging inside her skull the entire time they'd been in his room, threatening to burst out any second, and she'd somehow come to the decision that now was as good of a time as any. "Why did you jump in front of us, take the bombs?"

Fred was clearly interested as well, he perked up in his stance and watched Dakota intently.

He turned back to face them. "Because it was my job to," he said simply, his face expressionless as though he was speaking plain, common sense. He looked over to Fred. "Doesn't matter that we've had our differences, I'm first and foremost a solider. You're my Commander in charge-" his gaze slid over to Ava "-and you're the mission. Protect the Commander, protect the mission. Just how I do things."

Ava touched her fingers to her chest. "Me? What do you mean _I'm_ the mission?"

Dakota sighed, letting the long stream of breath escape from his nose. "Look...we're out to take down Merryweather and everything that comes along with it, but we wouldn't be doin' it without you. And they're makin' it pretty clear they want you back, and somethin' tells me it's not just to complete their little experiments. Besides..." he trailed off and sighed again, and his eyes traveled down to Ava's neck. He stared at the thick pink scar on her throat he'd given her years ago before looking back up, into her eyes. "It was the least I could do."

They stared at one another quietly for a few seconds before Fred stepped forward, even closer to the bed, and extended his left arm, letting it hover over Dakota's waist. Dakota stared at Fred's hand for a moment before bringing up his own, letting it clap against Fred's. Their hands gripped one another's, tightly enough that Ava could see each of their knuckles turning white and their forearms bulging slightly.

Something stirred inside Ava's chest as she watched the two men holding their hands together, their eyes locked, quiet and wordless but saying everything that needed to be said. Any and all animosity they'd had for each other melted away like ice cream in the sun, a newfound deep respect and even friendship passing between their handshake.

They all jumped in place as the quietness was broken and the door swung open, revealing a girl Ava thought was Fleur for a moment, but quickly realized wasn't. They shared some of the same features; identical blonde hair that was so light it almost looked silver, skin so ivory and smooth it looked as though it had been carved from white marble, and bright blue eyes sparkling like two bits of topaz. But she was taller than Fleur, with a longer nose, and had more curve to her figure. She appeared to hover somewhere around eighteen or nineteen years old.

She jumped a little as well, frowning slightly and looking around the room. "Erm...'ello, Fred, I'm sorry, I was looking for my seester? The Reception desk told me the one with long blonde 'air had gone in 'ere...ah," she said, her gaze falling on Ava and smiling slightly. "I see."

"Ava, this is Fleur's sister, Gabrielle," Fred said quickly, stepping towards the girl. "I haven't seen her, Gabrielle, you know she didn't go to the island with us?"

"Oh, I knew this," Gabrielle replied, twisting her hands together. "But she eenformed me she was coming to see Audrey? I came to see 'er too, she was hurt, no?"

Ava noticed although she was speaking to Fred, her sparkling blue gaze was wandering over his shoulder to curiously peer at Dakota. She fought back a breath of laughter as she watched him realize Gabrielle noticing him, and he sat up in bed a little straighter, flexing his exposed abdominal muscles as he did so.

"I was at the island, with the rest of 'em," Dakota offered, craning his neck to peer over Fred's shoulder and meet Gabrielle's eyes. Ava had to hand it to him: Dakota was many things, but shy was not one of them.

He raised his hand and gestured vaguely towards his face. "Kinda got turned into a monster 'long the way. Name's Dakota."

"I am Gabrielle, eet is nice to meet you," Fleur's sister responded immediately, taking a few steps forward. "And your face...eet is not that of a monster...more like that of someone eenteresting and brave, with a story to tell." She giggled lightly. "Reminds me of, eh, that one from the Batman chronicles, you know? 'Arvey Dent? Two-Face?"

Ava and Fred immediately caught one another's eyes. Ava was grinning and shaking her head, and Fred mouthed something that looked a lot like, _'what the actual fuck?'_

"You...you know Batman?" Dakota choked out, staring at Gabrielle like she was an angel descended from Heaven itself.

Gabrielle blushed the lovliest shade of peach. "American comic books are, how do you say eet? 'Guilty pleasure'?" She grinned, and Dakota beamed back at her, apparently speechless.

"Well, we'll leave you two at it," Fred announced loudly, grinning over at Dakota in the least subtle way humanly possible. "Dakota, I'll come by later again mate, alright?"

"'Kay," Dakota rasped back, still staring at the blonde French girl.

Fred rolled his eyes and took Ava's hand, leading her out of the room as they laughed to themselves. As soon as he closed the door behind them, Ava burst out in laughter.

"They certainly hit it off, didn't they?" she asked Fred.

"I expect a wedding in no less than a month," he replied back. He was still grinning, but suddenly looked distracted, looking over Ava's head down the hall and turning in place to look behind him in the other direction.

"What is it?"

He looked around again for a moment before looking back down at Ava, his face sort of uncomfortable and awkward looking. "Erm...would you mind if I wanted to head down to Audrey's room alone first? It's not that I don't want you there," he said quickly, watching Ava's face to gauge her reaction, "it's just...Percy will be there...and I'd rather just-"

"Feel it out and have a moment with your brother first?" Ava finished for him, her eyebrows raised. The sound of both Dakota and Gabrielle laughing heartily on the other side of the door met their ears.

Fred looked relieved. "Yes, exactly. Is that alright?"

Ava made a face and sighed heavily, pretending to begrudgingly accept. "I guess," she teased him, and raised herself on her toes, bringing her mouth close to his ear. "I only hate you a little."

He laughed, and tugged on the ends of her hair. "Gee, thanks. I only hate you a little too."

She grinned back and went up on her toes again to kiss him a quick goodbye, but just as she began to pull away, he wrapped his arms around her and held her against him, elongating and deepening the kiss and letting his thumb stroke her jawline as he did so. Ava could practically feel the stares of passerby as she counted the seconds their lips caressed against one another's; five turned to ten, which turned to fifteen. She found herself mentally brought back to the night before last: the sound of the sea in the distance, the taste of whiskey in each other's mouths, their bare skin tacky with sweat and pressed against each other.

Fred finally broke away first, keeping his forehead resting down against Ava's. "I-I..." he started, and Ava opened her eyes to see him staring at her again with that strange look that he'd been giving her as she'd placed the salve on Dakota's lips. Her stomach tumbled.

"I'm glad you're safe," he finally finished a little breathlessly. He pulled back and straightened up, planting a kiss on her forehead as he did so.

Ava patted his cheek gently and turned on her heel, heading back the way they originally came, towards the reception atrium and enormous clock.

"Where are you going to be?" Fred called after her.

She twirled in place to look at him, walking backwards as she did so. "The Gunhilda of Gorsemoor Memorial Cafeteria, of course," she called back. "Didn't you see the board? Dish of the day is Tandoori Dragon!" She winked and could hear him laughing as she turned back around, continuing her walk alone down the hallway.

Ava was doing her best to concentrate on the good: Dakota was alive, Audrey was alive, they were all safe. They were safe. They were safe.

But she couldn't deny that her concentration was broken every time she closed her eyes to blink: Fox's face and half shaved head was ever present, her maniacal laugh and promises of revenge playing on a loop between Ava's ears.

* * *

As Fred neared room 62, his heart threatening to pound clean through his chest any second, flaming red Weasley hair attached to a pink neck and square shoulders caught his eye.

"Ron!" he called out, and his brother turned around.

Ron's face did a funny thing, he looked sort of surprised, and then the surprise fell into something neutral, but hardened. He walked forward to meet Fred.

"You alright?" he asked him, shoving his hands in his pockets and avoiding Fred's eyes as they approached one another.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Fred replied. "I've just been to see Dakota."

"How is he?"

"Fine. Surprisingly well, honestly, for someone who got half their face burned off." He'd attempted to joke slightly, but Ron didn't even try to fake a smile. He continued to look around the hall, his shoulders rounded forward, and then seemingly took great interest in his shoes.

"Are _you_ alright?" Fred pressed, irritation at the random awkwardness of the moment flitting through his chest.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Ron mumbled back.

The tension was nearly palpable, and Fred rolled his eyes to himself.

"Well, I'm on my way in to see Audrey," he finally said among Ron's continuous silence. "Care to join?"

As though a spring had been attached to the back of Ron's neck, he suddenly whipped his head up to finally look at his brother. His face was hard again.

"Fred...Percy...Percy wanted me to...to wait out here," he visibly gulped, and shrugged. "He, erm...he said no visitors for now."

Fred raised a single eyebrow. "How would you know what Percy wants if he said no visitors?"

Ron continued to simply stare at him, and realization suddenly came tumbling down upon Fred like an avalanche.

"It's me, isn't it?" he asked, raising his chin slightly and using his height to his advantage, looking down at Ron with a questioning, piercing gaze. "He doesn't not want _visitors_, eh little brother? He just doesn't want _me_."

Ron attempted to raise his height further as well, although still not matching Fred's. "You don't have to go throwing a hot-headed fit over it, alright? Just respect his wishes, and get lost for now." His voice was striving to sound hardened, tough, and his brow was furrowed together in determination as well, but Fred could see the shadow of fear and uncertainty flicker in his eyes.

"What the _fuck_ is your problem?" Fred hissed in the lowest voice possible, his hands making fists at his sides. "Your mood swings give me whiplash, you know that? You'd better make up your bloody mind whether you like me or not-"

"Audrey is never going to walk again, Fred!" Ron suddenly bellowed. His exclamation was so sudden, so loud, that it echoed down the hallway, and several passerby actually stopped in their tracks to stare. Ron ignored them. "She's lost use of her fucking _legs_. Forever. And it's your fault! Whose going to take care of Lucy now, you know, your two year old _niece_-"

Fred hadn't even realized what he was doing before he'd placed his hands on Ron; his palms made contact with his shoulders and he shoved him backwards, not hard enough to fall, but hard enough to stumble.

"My fault?" Fred exclaimed back to him, holding his arms out at his sides. "_My_ fault? I wasn't the one with the bloody gun, you dolt, I tried to help her-"

"We were unprepared!" Ron argued back, his voice echoing around them again. "You threw the Order in headfirst yet again, up the creek without a paddle, hell, the creek was shark infested too, and _you_ put us there! You put us there, Fred!"

Fred could feel the blood pumping in his ears but this time he said nothing, just continued staring at his brother, his mouth in a snarl. But who was he angry at, really? Was he actually angry at Ron for not letting him in to see Audrey? Was he angry at Ron for perhaps speaking the truth?

Or was he angry at himself?

Ron was panting, and his face no longer looked angry. It looked pained, and he shook his head. "That could've been any of us, Fred. Could've been Ava. Could have been Hermione."

Ron's words cut Fred like Fox's knife across his scalp. Ron wasn't nitpicking and criticizing something Fred had done; he wasn't tearing Fred down or arguing just for the sake of being pigheaded. He was terrified; terrified that a Muggle weapon had permanently hurt Audrey, terrified that Merryweather was always one step ahead of them and Fred in his leadership couldn't stop it, terrified that he could have lost his family...because Ron did have a family, now, Fred was always forgetting...he could have lost it the same way Percy was losing his.

Fred stared hard at the door to room 62 for a moment. He imagined Audrey behind it, laying in bed and receiving the news she wouldn't walk again. He imagined Percy beside her.

"I'm going," he said in a choked voice, and turned on his heel to stride away quickly, back down the hall but not quite sure where he was going yet. He just wanted to put as much space between him and Ron and room 62 as he possibly could; far enough so that he wouldn't be able to feel the look of betrayal in his brother's eyes boring into him any longer.

* * *

It was almost a full week before Dakota was permitted to leave St. Mungo's. Fred insisted the the Order meeting was to wait until then. He deserved that, at the very least.

Audrey hadn't been released yet, and Fred didn't ask any questions.

This particular Order meeting was different than the others. No merry fire crackled upon the hearth, no dinner was served. The mood in the room was stale, and no one quite knew what to say, save for Percy and Audrey's two year old daughter, Lucy, sitting in Molly's lap and happily babbling.

Another new guest was sitting in on the meeting: Fleur's sister, Gabrielle. Dakota was beside her, the right side of his face shiny and raw looking as new skin attempted to grow, his nostril gone, his eyebrow singed off and his lips sagging downward with scarring. A single white bandage was wrapped around his head at a diagonal angle, protecting his empty eye socket. Their hands were quietly joined under the table, and Fleur kept looking over to them, opening her mouth like she wanted to say something, and then closing it abruptly as she seemingly changed her mind, over and over again.

Fred glanced up and met eyes with his twin. He gave George a single nod, which he returned, before clearing his throat softly and rising to his feet, swinging his leg over the bench and quietly striding to the front of the room.

"We're going to be making some changes to the current mission," George started, no formalities or greetings necessary. He scanned the room slowly, fighting a grimace at the sadness etched upon everyone's faces. Every member of the Order was there besides Audrey and Percy.

"Fred's stepping down from Head position, and I'm taking over for now," he continued.

Fred squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his hands, and he felt Ava's hand gently rest upon his leg, squeezing his knee a little.

"I stand by Fred and his decisions," George's voice said, Fred's eyes still closed and seeing nothing. "What happened to Dakota...and Audrey...it's affected us all, and we just need to...regroup a little. Get a new strategy." Fred could hear him clear his throat a little, and humiliation sunk into him further. He'd failed at stopping Merryweather on St. Kitts, failed at keeping the Order safe, and now George was stepping forward to attempt to clean up the mess he'd left behind. Not that he wanted to, of course. He'd had to beg him, beg George to take his place.

"I know you all came tonight for this meeting, and I'm sorry this is all we have to offer you tonight. All I can say is that I promise to work on our next moves best I can, and I'll call another meeting soon. In the meantime, we keep our fingers crossed for Audrey."

Agreed murmuring hummed throughout the room, and Fred could hear the roar of flames coming to life as people immediately left through the Floo network. A couple of them clapped his back or gripped his shoulder as they passed by, and he could vaguely hear Ava whispering things to them, but he kept his eyes closed, his face buried in his hands.

"We love you, son," his father's voice whispered in his ear, squeezing his shoulder as well.

He immediately smelled his mother's perfume as she crushed her lips against his temple. "Stay strong Fred, you hear me?"

Fred finally raised his head and opened his eyes when he was certain the room was nearly cleared out. George was standing on the other side of the table looking down at Fred, concern deepening his features.

"I was going to go...home, with Ange," he said, his face uncomfortable. "But if you want me back at the flat, Fred, I'll go there and meet you in a little bit, stay as long as you want-"

Fred silenced him with a single shake of his head. "Go home and be with your wife, George."

George continued staring at Fred uncertainly for a minute, until he wordlessly nodded and stepped into the emerald green flames as well.

Fred was surprised to see that the last inhabitant of the room other than himself and Ava was Kingsley Shacklebot. His hands were clasped behind his back as he took slow, thoughtful steps towards the fireplace.

"Kingsley...Minister," Fred suddenly said in a pleading voice. He wasn't quite sure why, but in that moment, his eyes filled with sharp, burning tears.

Kingsley froze in place and turned to look at him, saying nothing but his face expectant.

Fred couldn't possibly explain why, but he felt the need to explain himself to him. To beg for forgiveness or something; the way Kingsley was looking at him was like a disappointed father gazing down at a shameful son.

"I...I thought we were going to be okay," he whispered, tears trembling on his vision line, "I thought...I thought Dakota had gotten us a step ahead of Merryweather...I thought it was going to go alright, Audrey and Hermione had infiltrated without issue and...and I dunno, I just...I thought we were going to be okay."

Kingsley continued staring at him, quiet, and Fred silently damned himself as he felt the tears spilling over, rushing down his cheeks. He simply nodded at Fred and turned around, making his way towards the fireplace again.

"I'm sorry," Fred choked out.

Kingsley paused directly in front of the flames, his hand outstretched and about to toss in the Floo powder. Only his head turned, his chin resting on his shoulder. His face was towards Fred, but he kept his eyes downcast, staring at the wooden floor.

"Did you think the lion was sleeping...because he did not roar?"

Kingsley had asked the question simply, and before Fred could say anything in return, the flames of the fireplace grew and sparkled as he stepped into them, turning in place and disappearing.


	29. Chapter 29--Gone

**Chapter 29—Gone**

Fred remembered the nightmares he'd had during his six month stay in St. Mungo's. Sometimes they were vibrant, sharp, with a story to tell, and sometimes they weren't—just fuzzy, incoherent thoughts and fears, twisting together to plague him while he slept; the metallic smell of blood and sounds of people screaming and a wall in the distance rumbling in collapse replaying over and over until he woke up sweaty and feeling more exhausted than ever.

Even after he'd come home, they'd continued, but eventually waned and were replaced by sleeplessness. The amount of nights he'd stayed wide awake staring at the grey ceiling of his bedroom quickly became outnumbered by the nights he'd swing his legs over the bed and roamed the flat. He'd taken to pacing; not necessarily out of nervousness or anxiety, but out of the sheer satisfaction he was awarded with from walking. Simply walking. Big ugly feet on the cold wooden floor, his every toe memorizing the feeling of every wood grain. Two in the morning, three in the morning, sometimes until sunrise. Appreciating the feeling of walking, and knowing he was probably worrying George sick the entire time.

But he'd been told he wouldn't walk again, so every pajama-clad step he took in the darkness was doing what Fred and George loved best: proving the naysayers wrong, and doing what they were told couldn't...or _shouldn't_...be done.

And so the pacing continued, and Fred found himself laughing at the thought that it was a shame the shop was below their flat instead of another inhabitant, because he would have loved to rattle some chains and moan as he walked around, relishing in sick satisfaction that he'd be terrifying the downstairs neighbor there was a ghoul living above them.

So it shouldn't have come as a surprise in the least to Fred when Ava's nightmares began, but expecting them didn't make them any easier to watch.

After all, you can expect the worst all you want, but it doesn't make _'the worst'_ any less shitty when it comes.

He knew their morning of terror on the island would come back to haunt her: the fiery explosions, the sheer terror of being chased through the woods like prey being hunted, the wizard she'd shot and killed, the odd floating bits of nature surrounding them, Audrey, Dakota, and Fox, all while the steely grey storm swirled in the sheet of cloud above them.

He was determined to keep them both as busy as possible, furiously trying to convince himself a tired mind would be a dreamless mind. And for a few nights, it actually worked: he'd enlisted Ava's help in preparing the shop to finally re-open after the Merryweather attack that had almost destroyed it, and alongside himself, George, Lee, and Verity, she did what he'd hoped for: she kept busy, and came to bed exhausted.

But it was about a week after the Order meeting when it first happened. Fred was in somewhat of a restless sleep himself; thankfully void of nightmares but hovering somewhere between awake and unconscious.

There was a stirring movement beside him.

It wasn't the familiar jostle of a toss or turn, or the mattress dipping and depressing for a moment as Ava would get up for some water. No, it was a continuous movement, back and forth, back and forth, repeating until one of her legs kicked his and jolted him fully awake.

She was asleep, but her legs flailed forward and backward as she desperately ran in place.

"Ava," Fred murmured, propping himself up on his elbow and rubbing his eyes.

She was laying on her side, her back facing him, and her shoulder rose and fell rapidly with frantic, uneven breaths.

"Ava," he said, louder this time, and squeezed her shoulder.

She let out a little gasping sound and muttered something inaudible, her eyelids fluttering wildly.

"Wake up, wake up!" Fred urged, shaking her a little.

Her eyes flew open and were glassy for a moment as the dream melted away and she was greeted with the dark bedroom around her.

"You were having a nightmare," he murmured, leaning down and kissing the side of her head. Her left arm rose from her side and her hand gripped his upon her shoulder. He moved closer to her, holding her against him for the rest of the night, but he was almost certain she didn't fall back asleep.

But the nightmares only worsened, and Fred found himself desperately waking her on a nightly basis, his heart sinking at the sight of her unconsciously plagued by invisible terrors.

Three nights after the first incident was the worst that it got. Fred stayed awake, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling, waiting patiently for the dreams to start.

Ava was laying on her back, and her hands suddenly twisted; her fingers curling claw-like and digging into the mattress. Her breathing became hurried, ragged, and she began crying out in the inaudible dream language again, murmuring and whimpering and groaning as her facial features screwed up together tightly in worry and fear.

"Ava, wake up," he began softly, sitting up to lean over her. It was a practiced routine now; waking her too suddenly seemed to result in even more terror but he had to be firm enough to get through to her.

She whimpered again and he passed a hand through her hair, rubbing her scalp a little.

"Ava, come on love, wake up," he said, leaning close to her ear and rubbing her hair again.

She awoke with a start, jumping in place, her breath catching in her throat and making her sputter a little.

"Fred," she panted in his ear, her chin in his neck.

"Mm," he hummed back, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, pressing her chest up against his.

The sound of crickets chirping carried in with a breeze through the open window, and Ava's breathing became steadier, slower, more even. The warmth of it passed over his neck, and something stirred inside of him. And for the first time since the night in St. Kitts, he made love to her, and then again right before the sun rose, banishing away all memories of fear and pain that had plagued her dreams for the past few nights with kisses along her collarbone and holding her so tightly against him, he swore their two bodies temporarily melded into one.

But—as it had exactly happened to Fred four years ago—once her nightmares stopped, the restlessness and sleep evasion begun.

They were close to the re-opening of the shop now. Fred and George were finishing up some new products to debut, and Verity and Lee were having near-daily passionate arguments about interior decorating and color schemes and displays. The twins found themselves often separating the two in the fear of them coming to blows and afterwards, having a laugh about it all, but Ava seemed distracted; she was quiet and often staring into space or rifling through papers she brought down with her from the flat.

It was one night that Fred rolled over, his arm outstretched to sling over where her body should have been, when instead, he was met with a cold, empty spot on the mattress.

He sat upright, listening hard in the darkness, and heard a slight creaking accompanied by some shuffling sounds from down the hall.

Fred sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and quietly making his way to the doorway. Guilt sank inside of him like stones in his belly; is this what he'd done to George for so long, for so many nights? Interrupted his sleep and left him worrying, wandering through the flat in search of him and observing him from the shadows?

He reached the end of the hall and froze in place, watching her. Ava was in the middle of a slow, mindless pace around the sitting room, making laps around the couch and lamp and coffee table over and over again. She wore nothing besides underwear and one of his t-shirts, her bare legs illuminated in the golden light of the lamp and then swallowed by shadow again as she made her rounds. She was holding a stack of papers again, up close to her face, and her brows were furrowed together as she read.

As she chewed on her bottom lip and turned a page over, Fred revealed himself from the dark hallway and strode into the dimly lit room.

"What are you reading?" he demanded loudly.

Ava jumped in place as though someone had burned her, stumbling over her own feet and promptly careening into the coffee table. Her shin met its edge with a solid whacking sound, and her eyes bulged, the papers leaving her hands and fluttering to the floor gracefully.

"What the—_holy shit_, Fred," she gasped breathlessly, leaning down and cradling her calf, wincing in pain. "What are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?"

He chuckled to himself at her clumsiness, shaking his head and taking a few steps forward.

"I wasn't _sneaking_," he said, bending down to start collecting the sheets of paper layering the floor. "Is there a better way to greet someone pacing around in the dark at, what-" he paused to squint at the clock mounted on the wall "-three in the morning?"

"Give me those," Ava muttered darkly, suddenly forgetting all about her leg pain and darting forward to snatch the papers from Fred's hand. She held them closely against her chest and scowled at him.

They frowned at one another in silence and stillness for a few moments before they both suddenly sprang into action; Fred nearly dove across the room with his arms outstretched, desperately reaching for some additional fallen papers arranged across the area rug, and Ava was at his side, pathetically shoving his shoulder with hers. They were suddenly on all fours, side by side, scrambling around and clawing at each others hands, fighting like toddlers.

"_Give-me-those!"_ Ava panted through gritted teeth, tugging the papers from Fred's hands.

"_Not-a-chance!"_ he panted back, and yanked harder. The force from his tugging sent her sprawling across the floor on her belly, and Fred jumped to his feet, dancing backwards away from her.

"Ha!" he said triumphantly, but Ava's stubborn streak was in full force; she sprang to her feet like a frog leaping from a lily pad and just about tackled Fred.

He barely stumbled in place; he was already about ten inches taller than her, and she shoved her thin frame against his, crying out in annoyance.

"_Fred!_" she whined as he held the papers high above her head, laughing hysterically.

"_Avaaaa!"_ he sing-songed back, waggling the papers up even higher, like making a dog jump for a bone.

Scowling deeply at him, she bent at the knees to give herself one big leap, the tips of her fingers clutching at the edges of the papers and ripping them on the way down. They both froze, staring at one another blankly and each holding jaggedly ripped halves of the papers.

"Fred, wait-" Ava started as he quickly brought the tattered sheets up to his face to read what he could. But she sighed loudly in abandon, crossing her arms on her chest and watching uncomfortably as he read.

After about a minute, Fred looked up, and held his arms out at his sides.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he questioned her, and shook the papers in his left fist. "What's the point of this?"

"Stop," she whispered, looking away ashamedly. She rested her chin on her shoulder and avoided his gaze, staring determinedly into the kitchen.

"No, you stop," he countered, stepping forward until he stood directly in front of her. He shook the papers again. "Where did you even get these?"

"They're yours," she whispered back weakly, her voice tight and eyes shining with oncoming tears as she still looked away from him. "Back from when you looked up my name in the library. I found them all scattered under the bed."

"What were you doing under the bed?" he cried, brandishing his arms.

"Looking for monsters," she shot back sarcastically, rolling her eyes and finally looking at him. "I was just sweeping, okay, and I came across them-"

"So why are you pacing around reading them at all hours of the night and desperately defending them like they're some sort of contraband?"

"Why are you giving me the third degree like I'm some kind of criminal?" Ava cried out in return.

"What the shit is the third degree?!" Fred roared back.

"Stop raising your voice at me," Ava said in a warning tone, staring at him with a hard expression.

Fred paused, and suddenly became self aware of his wildly beating heart, the ringing in his ears, the warmth on his forehead. He let out a long, deep breath from his nose. His bloody temper. Again.

"I'm sorry," he said, a lot softer, and tossed his half of the papers on to the squishy brown armchair inbetween him and Ava. A black and white, slightly grainy photograph of Fox in high school graduation garb smiled up at them. "But really. Why are you sneaking away to read about Fox in the middle of the night?"

"I wasn't sneaking," Ava said, repeating his words from only a few minutes earlier with the smallest of smirks. "I just couldn't sleep, and...and..."

"And?" Fred pressed, raising a single eyebrow.

Ava made a loud, frustrated guttural sound, tossing her half of the papers down as well and shrugging exaggeratedly, letting her hands rise and fall against the sides of her thighs. "I don't know, Fred, okay? I don't know. I guess I just can't stop thinking about the girl-"

"The bitch," Fred quickly interjected, pointing to the side of his head where a patch of his red hair was shorter than the rest, but she continued immediately as though she hadn't heard him.

"I just keep thinking that Fox—and that isn't even her real name, her real name is Annie, Annie Wu..." Ava was suddenly rambling, her thoughts disheveled, staring at the ground and pacing again. "Annie was a person, you know? A real person before all of this happened, just like me. And I've been thinking this whole time that she's been most likely dead, and now she's not, she's brainwashed and doing magic and just wrong all around, apparently teaming up with Merryweather and promising me revenge-"

"Ava, come on," Fred said, surprised at his own voice. It was gentle, soft; deep and threaded with concern, sounding more like a loving murmur than a command. It was the same way he woke her from her nightmares, he realized. And now, as he watched her frantically pacing and babbling, he wanted nothing more than to do exactly that. Wake her from the nightmare she was in the middle of.

_Ava, wake up. Ava. Ava._

"And part of me hates her for becoming what she has and part of me pities her, and part of me hates myself because I know she wouldn't be like she was if it weren't for me leaving her behind, and now I can't stop thinking about Callaghan as well because I know they must have done the same to him-"

"Ava," he said, firmer, stepping closer slowly.

"And I've just been sitting here reading and reading all of these articles, all of these reports and interviews with her family and friends and track coach about how awesome she was and how much they miss her and how empty they feel without her, and I think about her now and I find myself wishing I'd rather her just be dead than be the crazed Merryweather she is now-"

"Stop!" Fred said it loudly, finally completely closing the distance between them and placing his hands on Ava's shoulders. He shook her just slightly. "Stop it! Stop talking about her, stop reading these, just stop! Stop doing this to yourself!"

"Why?" Ava whimpered back, looking up at him. The hysteria had bubbled forth from her eyes all at once; her cheeks was pink and soaked with tears and her face was contorted in hopeless despair. Her shoulders shook underneath his hands as a sob escaped her, and then suddenly, her legs were weak, failing beneath her as she sunk to the ground. Fred gripped her upper arms tightly to keep her steady but sunk along with her, kneeling in front of her under the dim light of the lamp.

"Why? Why should I care what happens to me, when everyone around me is getting hurt, when everything I've touched is damaged, why should my pain matter more than Callaghan's, more than hers-" Ava gasped through sobs, hugging her abdomen, squeezing her eyes shut and rocking back and forth.

"Because I love you, okay? Because I love you." Fred said the words loudly, shaking her shoulders again and dipping his head down to try and see her face with his. But she was inconsolable; she collapsed into a heap, seemingly deflating, her face coming down on his thigh and soaking through with her tears.

Fred's eyes were staring past her, looking into the corner of the sitting room but not really seeing anything at all. He just concentrated on holding her crushed form against him, one arm wrapped around her back and the other petting her head softly as she wept. He didn't soothingly shush her, he didn't tell her not to cry, and he suddenly realized he never had, just as she never had for him. They'd always just let each other let it all out; together in the Hogwarts corridor after he'd shattered his knuckles upon the wall and together now on the floor beside the coffee table and lamp. They'd never tried to stem the flow. They'd let the floodgates open for the other person, let the levee break, but stayed strong and steady and surrounding the entire time. A Citadel.

"Because I love you," Fred repeated again, leaning down to murmur it into her ear. He didn't repeat it because he needed to hear her say anything back and he didn't say it because she needed to hear it. He only said it because he felt it, truly felt it.

And that's why he loved her, after all. She made him finally feel things.

"Because I love you."

* * *

The day before the grand re-opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the shop was almost empty and nearly quiet. Verity and Lee had been sent home, as all the work was finished, and Ava was upstairs in the flat making dinner.

George sat on the first landing of the freshly painted staircase, his elbows resting on his knees, waiting for Fred to return from the storage room. He wrinkled his nose; the whole shop still smelled a bit like paint, actually—the old color scheme of orange and magenta was gone, and everything had a new, exciting gleam to it, bathed brightly in cobalt blue and canary yellow.

"Did you get lost?" he called out over his shoulder, tapping his foot impatiently. "She'll be here any minute!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" came Fred's voice, immediately accompanied by the sound of a slamming door and shuffling footsteps. He appeared around the corner of the staircase, his hair tousled and an oddly random array of items in his arms: a thick roll of Muggle bubble-wrap, a box of their newest invention, Bird Call Beans, and a bottle of red wine.

George raised his eyebrows and held out his hands expectantly. "Well, I can't wait to hear the explanation for this."

Fred chuckled and lowered himself to sit beside his twin, placing the three items in the space on the landing between them.

"This," he started, patting the roll of bubble wrap, "is from Neville. The poor bloke keeps a dozen of these hidden under the desk in his office at Hogwarts."

"May I ask for what?" George asked slowly.

"For when the students are being little shits and stressing him out. See?" He grasped a handful of the wrapping in his fist and squeezed tightly until it emitted several loud crackling sounds. "Satisfying."

"Very," George muttered back, popping some of the bubbles between his fingers as well. "But what'd you bring it out here for?"

"In case Skeeter makes me murderous and I need to do something with my hands other than wring her neck," Fred responded without pause, shrugging. "And this," he continued, touching the box of Bird Call Beans, "is for if she actually wants to do her job and interviews us about the re-opening, maybe asks if the public can expect any new products."

"And you got the wine for what? Using it as a weapon and cracking it over her head if the bubbles don't de-stress you enough?"

"I got the wine because I was thirsty," Fred retorted, lopsidedly smirking and winking at his twin. He tapped the bottle with the tip of his wand and the cork rocketed out the neck with a pop, bouncing across the floor and rolling behind a display table.

"Cheers," Fred murmured, drinking straight from the bottle before passing it to George and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

It was silent for a moment as George tilted his head back to take a swig.

"I told Ava I loved her."

George promptly choked on his wine, his eyes bulging and gasping for breath as he slammed the bottle down on the landing platform.

Fred furiously thumped his twin on his back. "Get a hold of yourself!" he commanded, slamming his palm between George's shoulderblades.

George shook him off after a moment, holding a hand to his chest. "You—you what?" he gasped.

"For the love of Merlin, you'd think I just told you Lee and I were eloping," Fred snorted, taking another drink of wine and rolling his eyes. "You heard me. I love her."

George nodded, still struggling a bit to catch his breath. He cleared his throat loudly. "And...and you told her?"

"I did. Four times, in fact," Fred replied, leaning back with his palms against the platform, tilting his head and admiring Verity's artwork on the ceiling high above them. It had been painted bright yellow, and in cobalt blue calligraphy were the words, _**'The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.'**_

"Four?" questioned George. "What happened the first three times? Did she have her hands over her ears begging you to stop talking?"

"You're a prick," Fred said, smacking George's arm but grinning nonetheless.

George sniggered back and helped himself to more wine. "Erm...on another note...have you seen...have you talked to Percy?"

Fred raised his eyebrows so astonishingly high they disappeared into his fallen hair across his forehead. "That was a seamless change in subject, Georgie. Bloody fantastic. Well done, very graceful, thanks for that."

George grinned sheepishly and held his palms up in a surrendering pose. "I'm just curious is all. We haven't really had a chance to talk about it, mate."

"Yes, we did."

"No, we didn't. You dragged me into the toilet as Ava and Angelina slept at the hospital and begged me to take your place as Head. That was about the extent of it."

Fred sighed heavily. "Let's not do this now, alright?"

"We don't have to do anything at all," George said, clapping his twin on his shoulder. "But you should talk to him."

"He doesn't want to see me," Fred muttered.

"He'll see you."

Just at that moment, the sound of the front door to the shop swinging open met their ears, the little suspended bell that was charmed to sound like wild hyena laughter echoing around the room loudly as the door clicked shut again.

"Oh Christ, she's here," Fred whispered darkly, bringing the wine to his lips one final time and chugging deeply.

"Should've brought something stronger. Whiskey," George whispered back hurriedly, gripping the edge of the landing platform with his fingers and leaning backward as though he was expecting some kind of sudden velocity.

The twins shrunk back, cringing together as the sound of footsteps neared. But the person that appeared around the side of the enormous Bird Call Beans display wasn't who they were expecting.

"You're...you're not Skeeter!" exclaimed Fred breathlessly, springing to his feet. He jumped down the small set of stairs and nearly tackled the pudgy man wearing plain grey robes, looking to be somewhere around his late twenties, his thin ashy blonde hair prematurely balding.

The man stumbled backwards slightly in surprise as Fred embraced him as though he was embracing an old friend.

"Um...hello," the man offered, patting Fred's back gingerly and looking to George in fear he would embrace him too.

"I've never been so happy to see someone in my life!" Fred declared, squeezing him harder.

"Are you in love with him too, Freddie?" George teased in a delicate voice, and Fred released the reporter to offer his twin two identical rude hand gestures.

They chuckled together as Fred came back to sit on the staircase platform, a dreamy, relieved smile still washed over his face, and George Summoned a chair that came whizzing around the corner and shoved itself behind the man's knees, making him bumble over his own feet a bit before letting himself fall into the seat.

"So you were expecting Skeeter?" the man asked in a deep baritone voice that didn't quite match his face. He patted the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and chortled. "The name's Paylor, Mark Paylor. I'd say nice to meet the both of you but we've already met."

The twins exchanged baffled glances, and Mark laughed again, waving his hand dismissively. "Hufflepuff, I was in my seventh year when you two were in your third...I was the one who had to be sent to the Hospital Wing after the Dung Bomb incident."

Fred and George, still clueless, continued staring for a moment until George spoke up.

"We became particularly fond of Dung Bombs in our third year, mate, you'll have to be more specific than that."

Mark visibly gulped. "You two, erm...you stuffed the Hufflepuff Christmas goose with Dung Bombs before you left on holiday break. I...bit into one."

The twins made an interesting facial expression then; it was the same one they made when their mother screamed their names in a threatening manner.

"Oops," George muttered, shrugging sheepishly.

"Ooh, you were the one that-" Fred started.

"Projectile vomited all over the back of Professor Flitwick's head, that's right," Mark finished for him, but he was grinning. He waved his hand again. "All in good fun though, yes? I see the pranking business has worked out well for you two." As he spoke, he reached in his robes and extracted a roll of parchment and a stubby, blue-grey quill, both of which gently rose into the air and poised themselves.

Fred and George simultaneously sighed and let out some light, relieved laughter. Mark was harmless; and his Quick Quotes Quill was a lot less threatening than Skeeter's. Their interview went on for only about twenty minutes, and carried more like a conversation rather than an interrogation.

"Two more things," Mark said at the end, holding up two of his fingers, "and then I'll be out of your hair. Firstly: besides the fabulous new color scheme, are there any surprises the public can be treated to with the grand re-opening?"

Fred and George grinned together.

"Good thing you asked," Fred said in a peppy voice, clapping and rubbing his hands together. He reached behind him and produced the striped box of Bird Call Beans, the package cleverly disguised as Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. He held out the box to Mark and shook it a little. "Have a bean."

Mark raised a single eyebrow. "Are those Bertie's?"

George shrugged exaggeratedly. "Who knows?"

Fred imitated him, his shoulders nearly tickling his ears. "We certainly don't."

Mark huffed and puffed a little, shuffling his bottom in his seat. "Alright, alright. In the name of journalism," he muttered, and plunged his chubby hand into the box, bringing it back out with a grey and white heather-patterned bean pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He eyed it suspiciously for just a second before hurriedly tossing it into his mouth, his eyes squeezing shut in dread as he chewed and swallowed.

"Well?" asked Fred.

"What do you think?" asked George.

Mark smiled, looking relieved, and opened his mouth to answer.

"_Hooo."_

The twins immediately exploded into laughter, leaning backwards and practically rolling around, clutching on to one anothers arms for support.

"What was that, Mark?" Fred asked, wiping tears from his eyes.

"_Hoo. Hoooo!"_

"Alright...give..." George trailed off, cracking up into peals of laughter again and struggling to sit upright. "Give him the reversal."

Fred dug around at the bottom of the box and pulled out a tiny velvet pouch, opening the mouth and shaking out a single bean, which was clear as glass.

"Here," he said, tossing it to Mark.

It looked as though Mark's lips formed the word 'thanks'.

"_Hooo."_

He devoured the bean amongst continued laughter from the twins, and licked his lips, furrowing his brow as though he was concentrating very hard on speaking correctly.

"Well...done."

Fred and George applauded, and Mark offered them a good-natured smile.

"Bird Call Beans," Fred announced, tipping the mouth of the box towards Mark so he could lean forward and look inside. "Makes the consumer speak in nothing but the corresponding bird call for one hour, or until they eat the reversal beans." He pointed into the box as Mark's quill furiously scratched on the floating parchment. "The turquiose and green one is Peacock, the shiny black one is Raven, the brown and white one there is Turkey-"

"What's that one?" Mark asked, pointing to a rather threatening looking bean. It had bold stripes of black, scarlet, and white.

"Ah," George replied, leaning over to see and smirking mischievously. "That's a rare one. Found in only one in a dozen boxes."

"It's Woodpecker," Fred followed, "but it doesn't make you emit bird calls."

"What does it do?" Mark asked suspiciously.

"Makes you furiously smack your head into trees," George replied simply.

Mark threw his head back in laughter. "No...no really, boys...what does it do?"

The twins stared at him solemnly.

"We're serious," they chorused together.

The smile faded from Mark's face a bit as the Quick Quotes Quill continued dancing upon the parchment merrily. "Well then, one last question and then we're finished," he said, dabbing at his face with the handkerchief again. He looked back and forth between the brothers, leaning in to address them directly.

"For both of you: to what do you attribute your success?"

Fred and George paused before they answered, sliding their gazes over to one another and locking their identical eyes, their identical mouths forming identical smiles.

"My brother," George said quietly, nodding to Fred.

"My brother," Fred responded the same, nodding back to George.

Mark was clearly satisfied, nodding heartily and smiling triumphantly as he pocketed his quill and parchment.

"It was nice speaking with you two," he said, shaking both of the twins hands.

Fred and George stood and stretched, their arms high above their heads and yawning lazily.

Mark paused before the front door, his hand on the knob. "Quick question for you two," he called out in a curious tone, and the twins made their way around the display table to face Mark.

"If you so desperately didn't want Skeeter to be the one to interview you, why didn't you make that a term upon your interview?"

George blinked once. "Come again?"

Mark chortled and shrugged. "Well...you could've sent an owl back to the Prophet agreeing to the interview, but only if Skeeter wasn't the one doing it."

Fred grinned. "But where's the _fun_ in that?"

Mark simply smiled, nodded once, and exited the shop, the wild hyena laughter from the bell echoing throughout the quiet.

"I have a brilliant idea," George suddenly announced, whirling around to face his twin. "Call me crazy but I think we can present _one more _new product tomorrow. But we'll have to pull an all nighter, what do you say?"

"I say yes, but let's do dinner," Fred pointed his index finger at the ceiling, gesturing towards the flat. "Then we'll do it, but I have to go somewhere first."

"Where?" George asked curiously.

Fred sighed heavily. "St. Mungo's. I'll give Percy a go."

George clapped Fred on the shoulder. "Good on you."

They walked to the stairs together and began making their way up towards the flat.

"What's she making? Smells good."

"Pot roast."

"I'm going to tell her I love her cooking. Four times."

"Oh, shut the hell up."

* * *

Fred was rarely nervous to do anything, but as he stood in front of room #62 in the Intensive Care Wing, he found himself rocking back and forth on his heels, adjusting his clothes, playing with his hair, and just generally biding his time.

He raised his fist to the door, then lowered it, then raised it again, gritting his teeth as he pounded it twice and then quickly took a step backwards as though the door would bite in return.

"Who is it?"

Percy's voice.

Fred cleared his throat, his stomach in knots. "It's...It's me!"

"Whose 'me'?" But there were footsteps coming closer and closer to the door, and just as Fred was considering that this was a terrible idea and measuring just how long the hallway was and wondering how far he could sprint before Percy got to the door...it swung open.

The brothers didn't quite know what to say to one another; Percy's expectant look on his face looked sort of frozen and Fred looked like he'd just been threatened by his mother again, shrinking away and his face screwed up in dread.

Percy spoke first. "Hello."

Fred raised and lowered his hand pathetically before shoving it deep in his pocket. "Hi."

More silence, until Audrey's voice called out from somewhere behind Percy.

"Whose there, love?"

Fred and Percy's eyes locked; Fred found himself despairingly cursing himself and wishing he'd thought of what to say sooner.

"It's Fred," Percy said quietly with an award-worthy poker face. And he backed up slowly, taking the door with him and opening it wide.

Fred was burrowing holes in his pockets deep enough to travel to Argentina with as he peered into the room nervously. All of the windows were open, sunlight and breezes streaming through, and the bed was neatly made and pushed up against the right wall, longways, as though to give the center of the room as much space as possible.

And there she was, shoulders straight and neck long and graceful even in her current state—Audrey, in a wheelchair, hair done and her blouse neat, a blanket draped across her legs and baby Lucy in her lap.

"Fred!" she said brightly, and the genuine smile spread across her face nearly broke Fred's heart. "Come in!"

Fred took wide, slow steps into the room, sending Percy a weak half-smile as he passed him.

"Hi Audrey," he said in a near-whisper, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

She returned the gesture, even reaching around to touch the back of his head lovingly with her free hand.

"Lucy," he said with a smile, acknowledging the baby with a tap on the nose. She giggled, drooling happily and bouncing a little.

"I thought you'd be the Physical Therapy Witch," Audrey said. "She's due to bring me for my session any minute now."

"Want me to watch Lucy for you when you go?" Fred offered.

Audrey shook her head, some of her brown hair falling from behind her ears as she did so. "She comes with me. So I can learn how to do everything I would normally do, just seated. And Lucy's such a good girl for Mummy, isn't she?" Audrey spoke brightly, as though she was talking about normal day-to-day activities, and began tickling Lucy on the belly.

"Knock, knock," came a voice near the doorway.

Fred turned and was instantly washed over with the sensation of deja-vu; the witch standing in the door frame was none other than Healer Rachelle—the exact woman who'd given Fred _his _physical therapy sessions during his stay four years ago.

Rachelle smiled widely. "I was wondering when I'd run into you, Fred."

"Rachelle," Fred said with a surprised laugh, and crossed to the room to greet her with a hug. She wrapped her arms around him in return and nearly crushed him; Rachelle was freakishly strong and wasn't afraid to show it. He'd spent numerous days absolutely hating her, despising her, seething at the very sight of her—she was a pusher, and a damn good one at that. Fred would fall while learning to get out of bed himself again and, after checking to make sure he wasn't hurt, Rachelle would patiently wait for him to stand up on his own; he'd drop the glass of water he was practicing holding to regain grip strength and she'd hand him a broom and dustpan and wait for him to clean it up himself. He'd spent so much time gritting his teeth to avoid cursing at her, wondering what good she was if she made him fend for himself—but it wasn't until the end, the day he stood from his bed and walked to the other side of the room without falling and gotten himself released, that he realized how truly wonderful she had been. He often wondered if he would have recovered half as quickly as he did if it weren't for her.

"You know each other?" Audrey asked curiously, still smiling and her head cocked to the side.

"Oh, Fred absolutely hates me, don't you Fred?" she roared, swinging her arm and pounding him on the back so firmly he nearly tipped over.

"She's a monster," Fred agreed, grinning at the Healer and winking.

Rachelle let out a bark of laughter. "Fred nearly killed me during his stay after the Battle. I basically taught him how to wipe his own ass again and got on every last one of his nerves doing so!"

"Quite a visual," Audrey said softly, blushing a little but grinning widely in return.

"Well come on, Aud, time to go!"

Fred vaguely wondered for a moment why Percy wasn't coming around to wheel his wife out of the room, until he saw it—Percy's hands were gathered in fists at his sides, his knuckles white and his fingernails digging into his palms. Audrey placed Lucy in the center of her lap, her back against her belly, and she concentrated hard, the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she placed her hands on each of the wheels and turned herself, steering her way out of the room.

"I'll see you soon, Fred?" she asked as she passed him, her wheelchair squeaking slightly as she glided by. She had asked him; it was a request, with hopefulness in her tone. She wasn't making an empty _'I'll see you around'_ type promise. She was asking him to make the effort to visit again.

"Yeah, you'll see me soon."

She smiled brightly, reaching up to squeeze Percy's hand as she passed him before exiting.

Rachelle saluted, one hand on the door knob, nodding to the brothers before she swung the door shut behind her.

_Four. Five. Six. Seven._ Fred counted the seconds he and Percy stood there in silence, before finally thinking of something to say.

"Rachelle is brilliant," he offered, vaguely gesturing to the closed door. "If there's anyone whose going to help Audrey, it's her."

Percy replied with a single curt nod, avoiding Fred's eyes.

"I saw...I know how badly you wanted to help her out of the room," Fred said softly, watching his brother's face and waiting for him to finally look up. "George used to do the same, you know. I'd fall, he'd rush to help me and Rachelle had to physically stop him. The two almost came to blows a few times." Fred chuckled at the memory. "But yeah. She's amazing."

Percy released a long stream of air from his nose. "Audrey's been learning quickly. Rachelle had her make the bed today," he said, nodding to the corner.

Fred looked over his shoulder, feigning deep interest in the bed. "Nicely done."

"Yeah."

"Perce,-"

"Sit, Fred." Percy was pointing to the window seat. "Sit down."

Fred cleared his throat awkwardly as he made his way over to the seat, settling into it as Percy lowered himself into the armchair beside it.

Another six seconds of silence passed between them before Percy finally spoke.

"I'm not angry with you."

Fred stared into his hands on his lap. "Ron said-"

"I wasn't ready to see you then. I didn't know what to say. But I'm not angry, and I never was."

"Alright."

Percy bent his arm at the elbow, bringing his hand to his mouth to gnaw on his knuckles for a moment as he stared out the window, where the sun was beginning to set. "I know that this—this is my punishment. My karma, if you will."

Fred's head snapped up. "What?"

Percy continued biting on his hand for a few more seconds, his legs crossed and the suspended foot jiggling incessantly in anxiety. "This is my punishment for what I let happen to you."

Fred made an odd noise; it was somewhere between a choking sound and a single laugh of disbelief. "What are you playing at, Perce?"

Percy let his hand fall from his face back down on the arm rest, and finally looked over to Fred, addressing him directly. "When you—when we were in the hallway, on the seventh floor—when the wall came down." Percy was usually incredibly collected, but now, he was fumbling to simply string his words together. "I—I think I could have saved you. I never told you that."

"Perce, come on mate, it was an accident-"

"No, no, I know that," he interjected back, waving his hand dismissively. "I know it's not my fault the bloody wall came down on you in the first place. But...after the hole was blasted through, and you were knocked to the ground...the rubble was only covering your legs, Fred. You hadn't been buried yet. You remember?"

"Yes," said Fred in a tight voice. This was probably his least favorite subject to talk about. Ever.

"Well, I—I-I stood there!" Percy's voice was suddenly forceful, a declaration. "You were laying there with your legs covered and you were screaming, and I saw the wall wobbling...and I froze."

Fred stared at his brother,expressionless, simply blinking a few times and waiting for him to continue.

"I sort of just...I don't know, watched it happen! And I don't know why, I don't know why I froze, but I probably could have stopped it and I didn't-"

"Percy." Fred interrupted him there, saying his brother's full name loudly and slowly, leaning forward to get closer to him in the armchair. "I'm going to give you a swift smack across the face in a second. You're babbling. Just shut up you prat, please."

Percy's face was carved from stone for only a second before he burst into laughter, hearty and round and heartfelt, his eyes squinting and nearly all of his teeth showing, the orange glow from the sunset outside illuminating his pale face and neck.

Fred let out a couple breaths of laughter along with him, patting his hand for a second before settling back into the windowseat. "Perce...you're not being punished for anything, mate. If karmic punishment for past deeds were a real thing, don't you think George and I would be homeless beggars on the street by now for all the hell we've raised?"

Percy chuckled again. "Alright, alright. Good point."

Fred released a long, deep breath, shaking his head and looking out the window. "You weren't the one who pushed the wall down on me, same as I wasn't the one who put the bloody bullet in Audrey."

"I'd like to find the coward that did," Percy said in a quiet but surprisingly dangerous voice.

Fred nodded. "He's dead. Dakota killed him."

"How is he?"

"Dakota? He lost an eye and half his face but, erm...he's doing surprisingly well, I'd say." Fred grinned. "He hit it off with Gabrielle."

Percy raised his eyebrows. "Fleur's sister?"

"Oh yeah. From what I hear she's been going to see him everyday."

Percy chuckled in disbelief. "Fleur with Bill and now her with one-eyed Dakota. Those girls loved their scarred men, don't they?"

"Seems like it."

There was another silence between the brothers then, as they both sat quietly watching the sun settle down into the horizon, but this one wasn't as loud.

* * *

A little boy had his face pressed up against the glass window of the shop, his features smashing against the glass and giving him the appearance of a pig.

"Lee!"

But Lee had seemingly lost his sense of hearing; he was too busy admiring his reflection on the back of some metal shelving.

George leaned further over the railing; he and Fred were on the second floor catwalk of the shop making sure everything was in order, while their friend remained on the ground floor.

"_Lee!"_

Lee jumped suddenly as though startled, and whirled around wildly until he spotted the twins above him.

"What's up boss-man—er, men?"

George pointed down to the window, where the boy and now a couple of his friends were all crushed up against the glass.

"Can you bear to tear away your eyes from your own reflection for just a moment to cast a Fogging Charm on the windows?"

Verity was clearly heard snickering from the third floor walkways above.

"Right on it!" Lee called out as he strode to the window, whipping out his wand. "But you have to admit I—_we_ look all pretty smashing, eh?" He cast the charm, much to the little boy's dismay, and spun in place, holding his arms out and showing himself off like a peacock ready for a mating ritual. "Good call on the change in uniform, you two."

George grinned back down at his friend, rolling his eyes, but glanced sideways to Fred.

"I won't say it to him, because his ego's about to burst as it is," George muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "but we do look absolutely killer."

Along with the magenta and orange color scheme being exchanged for canary yellow and cobalt blue, their uniforms had been changed completely as well—gone were the magenta robes with the triple W orange stitching; they'd been replaced by slim-fitting blue suit pants with a bold yellow stripe going down the side of the leg, with a crisp yellow button-up, the sleeves rolled to the elbows and the triple W stitched across the breast in blue.

George watched as Fred had absolutely no reaction to his words; he was peering around distractedly and kept letting his eyes drift up to the third floor walkways above them.

"Hello?" George said in an obnoxiously shrill sing-song voice, snapping in front of Fred's face. "Anybody home? What, is today national bloody ignore George Weasley day?"

Fred jumped just as Lee had, one hand nervously rising up to pat the side of his head where his hair was still slightly uneven.

"Yeah, the Fogging Charms on the windows, brilliant," he said, nodding a little too vigorously.

George raised a single eyebrow. "Are you drunk?"

"What?! No!" Fred exclaimed. "Just a little tired is all, we did stay up all night long finishing those." He jutted his chin outwards, gesturing towards their product that had been finished at approximately 5am. The display was small but shared a table with their Bird Call Beans.

"Aaand you're looking for Ava," George finished for him, watching his eyes travel up to the third floor again, where there was a set of four steps off the edge of the catwalk that led to a small landing, which led to the door to the flat.

Fred nodded. "She said she was running behind getting ready and would meet us down here in time for the opening. She was acting kind of strange, honestly." He leaned over the railing. "Lee! What time is it?"

"Five minutes past when we were supposed to open! Come on, the crowds are about to start a riot!"

Fred groaned. "I'll go up there to see what she's doing."

George gripped his twin's shoulder. "Why don't you go down there and make sure everything looks right, make sure the stock room's organized and all that shit, and I'll go look for her?"

Fred let out a deep breath. "Alright."

They separated; Fred heading down the stairs while George turned on his heel to ascend them and head to the third floor.

"Oh, and Lee? One last thing?" he called down to the ground level. "Go start a diversion outside. Call it the pre-show or something."

"What do you suggest?"

"Anything. Everything."

The sound of dress shoes jogging against the wooden floor sounded, and Fred revealed himself, standing beside Lee.

"George! You really think it's going to be that long?"

George snickered. "I'm _married_ now, Fred. I know what it actually means when a woman is 'almost ready'." He turned around to head to the landing, passing Verity dusting some shelves along the way.

"Make sure he doesn't drive himself out of his gourd," he whispered to her, who winked back, nodding, and headed downstairs.

There's something in every person's belly, not anatomical or tangible but there nonetheless, that feels things. Whispers things. It's often referred to as a 'sixth sense', or just simply a 'gut feeling'. Muggles and the wizarding world alike experience it, and often find this feeling, this intuition, has some truth to it.

Call it what you want, but as George closed the door behind him and stepped into the flat, that part in his belly was practically singing.

Something wasn't right.

"Ava?" he called out gingerly, but as his voice echoed around the quiet space, he already knew he wouldn't hear a response.

"Ava?" he tried again fruitlessly, suddenly taking on a hurried pace and striding to the other end of the apartment. He checked each room that he passed; the bathroom, his old bedroom. Empty. Empty.

"Ava?" he tried one last time, gently nudging the door to her and Fred's bedroom.

The stillness and silence was eerie; in a way, haunting. The bed was made and the window was left wide open, the curtains swaying in the breeze gently. George could hear the buzzing from the crowd on the ground outside, but other than that, there was nothing.

"_Shit,_" he hissed under his breath, and turned to sprint out of the bedroom, back down the hall and into the conjoined space of the entrance hall, kitchen, and sitting room.

Everything was as it should be. The lamp was in place, books were neatly stacked, the tables and chairs weren't tipped. Everything was right, everything was in place, there were no signs of an intrusion or struggle.

But Ava.

She was gone.


	30. Chapter 30--Weak

**Author's Notes: ****I'm back! Finally!**

**So sorry for taking longer than I normally do to update. Thank you all for your patience. Accept my apologies in the form of an extra long chapter.**

**I've really been thinking a lot about getting down to the grit of Ava's flaws, her humanity. I've done it quite a bit with Fred, but I haven't done it as much with her, and I think it's time. I feel it's really important to treasure your main OC, but to also make it quite plain they have issues, just like anyone else. Even though you love your OC it's perfectly fine for them to be occasionally unpleasant. Insolent. Annoying, even. REAL.**

**But don't worry, we'll be right back to the action and adventure very, very soon! (And I won't take as long to update next time. Promise.)**

**Please review and let me know what you think!**

**Chapter 30-Weak**

Fred and George alike had been accused on an innumerous amount of occasions of always being annoyingly prepared, in one way or another.

The twins' mischievous minds could often be described as loaded guns: a plan of attack, a clever retort, a witty comeback-always at the ready.

"_Oh, you two have an answer for everything, don't you?!"_ their mother would cry out when they were younger as she attempted—and sometimes failed—at disciplining them.

But now, as George found himself awkwardly hovering in the flat that was formerly half his, his feet planted and beginning to taking root in the floor, he realized: this was one of the few times in his life where he felt absolutely, positively, and utterly clueless as to what he should do.

His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides again and again as he mindlessly chewed on the inside of his cheek, weighing his options. He could attempt to go and find Ava, but just as he thought about doing so, the buzzing from the crowd outside wafted in through the open windows and seemed to grow in volume—the shop opening, already delayed as is. _Or_, he could head back down, spin a quick lie to Fred and proceed with their opening and worry about her later, but Ava...wherever she was, and why she left would be irrelevant by then. She would find a way to disappear—completely.

That's when he smelled it—the scent was almost gone, barely a whisper, but the breeze coming in from the outside stirred up the smallest remnants of ash in the air. His feet were still firmly planted but he felt his neck turning on its own, his eyes widening as realization washed over him. And the scattering of fresh Floo Powder around the edge of the fireplace confirmed his suspicions.

George finally uprooted himself from his lingering position and found himself jogging to the mantle, plunging his hand into the pot of Powder and stepping into the still-warm fireplace, following the only lead he had.

Only a few moments later, he stumbled into the Treehouse, coughing and waving clouds of ash away from his face, and scanned the room, another scene of eerie stillness. He had no idea what Ava would be doing here, but he was fairly certain this was the only place she knew she could Floo to.

"Ava?" he called her name again, and started on the spiral staircase, his thoughts jumbled and frantic. He remembered Fred's words from yesterday: _'I told Ava I loved her'_, and then from today:_ 'She was acting kind of strange, honestly'_. And then his mind spun again, flitting back to the island; the girl Ava called Fox, once both her friend and cellmate, stepping out of the dark patch of woods, half of her head shaved, her hands wrapped in bandages and holding daggers. She had spoken loudly enough for George and the others to hear: _'I'm here to let you know that I'm alive and well, bitch, and I'm coming for you and everyone you love'._

"Dakota!" George called breathlessly before he even reached the entrance to the third level. He stumbled into the doorway, panting and leaning on the doorframe.

The Marine was belly-down on the ground, arms bent at the elbows, wearing a sleeveless white undershirt. His skin gleamed with sweat as he poised himself for a push-up.

"_Holy Armadillo!"_ he screamed in a strangled voice, nearly losing his balance and teetering backwards on to his knees. He scowled, and George found himself wondering how he should look at him now—the right side of his face was still completely disfigured; marred and looking as though someone had packed raw-looking flesh colored clay on top of his actual skin, the edge of his lips thinned out and sagging, and a bandage still wrapped around his head, covering his empty eye socket.

_Should I just look into his left eye?_ George wondered to himself as Dakota got to his feet.

"You could warn a man, you know," he said, reaching over to a small side table for a glass of water waiting for him and drinking deeply.

"You didn't hear me thundering up the stairs?" George remarked.

Dakota drained the glass, placing it back down and wiping his mouth with the back side of his hand. "You look nice," he remarked, not answering the question. _'You look nass'. _"But why're you all covered in soot?"

George sighed impatiently, tapping his fingers along the wall. "Have you seen Ava? Has she been through here?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Not that I know of. Why, what's goin' on?"

George mentally cursed. "I dunno, me and Fred are opening the shop again today and she was supposed to be there...she's kind of missing."

"Missin'?" Dakota seemed instantly more alert, he began pushing his feet into his boots and whirled around, reaching for his utility belt and gun.

"I don't think it's _that_ kind of missing," George said delicately, his stomach turning. He let out a puff of air through his nose. "I think she may have left," he said quietly.

Dakota's hand slowly withdrew away from his weapon. "What exactly do you mean, 'left'?

"As in, made a break for it. Split. Gone. On her own accord."

Dakota folded his arms across his chest. "Now why would she do that? Fred's in love with the girl, I can see it a mile away every time he looks at her-" he cut himself off, suddenly pausing and a look of understanding washing over the left side of his face. "She's tryin' to protect him. And you."

"Everyone," George responded, shaking his head. "We've got to find her. Will you help me?"

"Yeah, yeah, 'course I will. Where could she have gone from here?"

George shrugged. "Deeper into the forest, I'm guessing. We'll have to get high, get a solid vantage point."

Dakota squeezed his left eye shut, as though in great pain or anguish. "This is goin' to involve some kinda dipsy-doodle magic, aint it?"

"Absolutely. Let's go."

* * *

George found himself silently thanking the heavens he wasn't ticklish around his sides, because as he soared on his broom high above the woods, Dakota's fingers dug into his ribs so deeply, he could probably feel every crevice of the bones beneath his flesh.

"You alright back there?" he asked loudly over his shoulder to where Dakota was seated behind him.

"I might be sick," Dakota responded over the howling of the wind.

"If you blow chunks on the back of my head, Dakota, I will personally take your other eye and wear it around my neck like a bloody trinket."

"Alright, alright, calm down there, you dang savage!"

"You've been warned!"

George wasn't sure if Dakota was laughing or groaning in response, but his attention was distracted at the next moment anyway: a spot of billowing, inky black, streaking through the trees below.

"I think that's her!" George called, removing his right hand from the broomstick and pointing down. "I'm going to dive, are you ready?"

"NO!"

"You're from the region in America where they ride bucking broncos and wrangle cattle, and you're afraid of a flying broom?" And with that, George leaned down, the wind whistling higher and louder than ever in his ears as they dove to the ground.

"This—aint—no—bronco!" Dakota was screaming back shrilly, his face buried into George's spine.

George skillfully wove through the treeline, avoiding the various branches and leaves sticking out every which way, gradually lowering the broom until he was quite close to the ground, around standing head-level. He reveled in a minute sensation of victory as he clearly saw that the figure ahead was indeed Ava; she wore the thick black cloak they'd given her to wear out in public, and bits of her light blonde hair were swirling out in the wind from the edges of the hood as she ran.

"_Stupid girl,"_ he heard Dakota mutter darkly, right before he leaned forward, nearly flattening his chest against the handle to urge the broom forward.

Ava was jogging along at a swift pace, her feet crunching against the forest floor padded with pine needles and bits of bark. Dakota's grip tightened around his waist as he closed the last bit of distance between them, the tip of the broom handle zooming up to her side.

"Hey!" George yelled over the loudness of the wind in his ears, his broom swaying even closer to her. His elbow grazed her shoulder.

Ava made an indiscernible sound; George suspected she perhaps intended to curse but the strangled, panicked yell that escaped her was no word he'd ever heard of. Her right arm swung outwards in surprise as well, and George barely had time to squeeze his eyes shut in a reflex before her forearm collided with his face.

The surrounding forest was a blur of green and brown and grey as his broom did a barrel roll in mid-air, and he felt Dakota sliding off from behind him accompanied by what sounded like a thud to the ground. His stomach churned unpleasantly as he spun and his hands were on fire, aching deeply from desperately holding on to the uncontrollable broom. His teeth clanked together and he painfully bit down on his tongue as his back and shoulders crashed into the rough texture of what felt like a tree trunk.

"What—_George_?!" he could hear Ava cry out, but her voice sounded farther away than it should have; he was having trouble registering his surroundings as he lay crumpled on his side upon the forest floor, at the base of the tree trunk. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, steeling himself against the nauseating sensation that seemed to be traveling from the back of his head, down his spine, and wrapping around his ribs into his belly.

"I KNEW that wasn't goin' to end well!" Dakota's voice rang out, followed by the sound of him spitting. George concentrated on several deep breaths in and out before finally opening his eyes, the rim of his bottom lids brimming with tears as the back of his head pounded.

"Shit, George, are you okay?" Ava's blurry figure grew in size as she made her way over to him, and he barely managed to stretch a shaky arm out, his finger jabbing in what he guessed was her direction as he blinked hard.

"_Don't come over here!"_ he meant to say in a growl, but his voice was comically high-pitched and strained from having the wind knocked out of him. He rubbed at his face furiously with one hand, gripping the side of the tree with the other to support him as he slowly got to his feet, stumbling in place a little as his view tilted and swam. _"Don't!"_

The three of them were silent for a few moments as George regained his balance, panting and staring down at the brown forest floor with great concentration until he was certain his vision was once again stable. He remained leaning against the tree trunk as he finally lifted his head to observe the scene before him, a frown tight around his lips.

Dakota stood to his left, scowling as well and clutching the right side of his face tenderly, where some pine needles and leaf stems clung to the delicate, swollen flesh. And only about a yard before him was Ava, her face red and forehead damp as she breathed hard through her mouth. Her shoulders rose and fell rapidly with her quickened breath but she stood limply, her face fallen, looking visibly defeated. She reminded George of something wilted.

"George-" she began, reaching up to pull the cloak hood down from her head, but he interjected before she had a chance to finish whatever she was going to say.

"Just what the _bloody fucking hell_ do you think you're doing?" he spat, finally letting go of the tree and holding his arms out at his sides. "Really, what's wrong with you?!"

Ava flinched slightly as though he'd hit her, before suddenly pausing to let her grey-green eyes travel up and down his tall figure. Then they widened, round and bulging, and her forehead dissolved into wrinkles as her brows came together.

"Are you—did you come from the shop opening to come get me?" she asked, a strong tone of disbelief in her voice.

"Of course I bloody did!" he roared back, angrily swiping at his legs in an attempt to brush off the dirt and forest remnants clinging to the fabric of his new uniform. "I went to collect you at the flat and you were gone! _Of course_ I came to get you!"

Ava's bottom lip was between her teeth as she looked off to the side, shaking her head back and forth. "I wish you didn't," she said in a low voice, staring out at nothing in particular.

George didn't even have time to respond before Dakota rounded on her.

"Little selfish here, don'chya think?" he spat, his hazel eyes blazing. "Fred loves you, you gotta know that!"

"I'll handle this, Dakota," George said loudly, strutting forward a few steps to get closer to Ava and folding his arms across his chest. He stared at her for a few seconds. "You're being a selfish prat. What's your plan, mm? What if something happened to you out here? Fred loves you!"

"Hey—that's exactly what I just said!" Dakota called out.

"Shut up, Dakota!" Ava and George chorused together. Their eyes met; if it weren't such an angry and uncomfortable occasion, they may have laughed.

Ava made a loud, angry sound in the back of her throat. "Damn it, what do you want me to tell you?" she nearly yelled, furiously undoing the silver cloak clasp at her neck and letting it flutter to the ground. She snapped her head back up to look at George. "I know he loves me, alright? I know! That's _why_ I'm leaving!"

George groaned, tilting his head back exaggeratedly as though he couldn't bear to look at her for a moment before speaking. "Oh, come off of it already and get over yourself!"

"Excuse me?" Ava sputtered back, touching a hand to her chest. "Come off of what, exactly?"

"_It!"_ George cried back rather ridiculously, gesturing outwards to the forest surrounding them again. "Come off of it, get out of here, get out of town—whatever bloody term you want to use! Just—just get over it! If you don't love the bloke that's fine, alright, it's fine, but it's no use running off and getting yourself killed in the process—"

"You think that's why I'm leaving?" Ava responded, disbelief in her voice again, her eyes shining.

"Well, then, enlighten me!" George roared back, and was suddenly quite aware of how loud his voice had gotten as several birds rose from their resting places in trees and fled to the skies.

Ava observed him quietly for a few seconds, eyeing him up and down warily. "You fight like Fred," she said quietly. "Losing your shit, all bent out of shape."

George took a moment to regain his composure, sighing heavily and crossing his arms again. "Why are you leaving?" his voice was softer, calmer, but still hard as steel.

"You think I'm leaving because I don't love him?" she said back quickly, her face contorted with emotion. "That's—that's exactly why I _am_ leaving. Because I _do_ love him!"

"You women make no dang sense," Dakota muttered.

Ava rolled her eyes at him before looking back to George. "George—I love your brother. But right now I am the _worst_ thing for him!"

"You are not," George responded quietly but gravely, taking a few steps forward to stand quite close to her. "You are not."

"People are getting hurt!" Ava cried, frustration clear in her voice. She jabbed her finger to gesture over to Dakota's face. "Him, Audrey—and it's only going to get worse! Merryweather knows we're closing in on them, and they're only going to escalate!"

"Then let them!" George retorted. "You think this is all just for you? You think we're risking our necks, our families' necks—just for you?"

"It doesn't matter the reason anymore," Ava said softly, shaking her head again. "It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have come to you for help in the first place."

"Oh, because you're going to stop an evil, bloodsucking government faction all by your pretty little self, are you?" George asked sarcastically. "Is that the plan?"

"It doesn't have to be me!" Ava yelled back. "But it doesn't have to be you either—any of you! Especially Fred! He's been through enough, and he's close to tearing apart at the seams-"

"You are not tearing him apart!" George interrupted. "You are sewing the bloke back together piece by piece, you can't see that?"

Ava stared at him hard for a few seconds before releasing a long breath out from her nose. "I don't want him getting hurt, or killed. Or you. Or you," she continued, looking from George to Dakota and back. "Any of you. If Merryweather wants me back so badly, so be it, _let them freaking have me_, but let someone else stop them. It doesn't have to be you."

George drummed the fingers of his right hand along his left bicep. "Say you'd died in St. Mungo's the night we got you from the alley. Say you died."

"Okay..."

"We would still be exactly where we are now." George pointed down at the forest floor to emphasize his point. "Right now. We would still be hunting Merryweather. Just without your help. You bringing my brother back to life is just a lovely little bonus. You understand?"

Ava only stared back at him, warily again, tears hovering on the edges of her eyes. There was something on her face, something she was staring at George with—disbelief. And George realized—she wasn't doubting anything he was saying, she wasn't judging his words for lies. She was in disbelief that George—and Dakota—were even there. Disbelief that anyone cared this much. Disbelief that maybe Fred could really love her, even.

"They fucked you up bad, didn't they?" he asked her quietly. "Merryweather. Locking you up for nearly three years. Can't imagine that they didn't."

Ava's bottom lip trembled hard, and her mouth twisted downwards, contorting her face and fighting back tears. She only responded with a single curt nod, wiping away at her eyes with the back of her hand hurriedly.

George sighed and stepped closer, extending his arms to rest his hands on her bony shoulders. "Ava." he said softly. "Strange bird. Look at me. _Look at me._"

She finally turned her head to face him, a tear dribbling down her cheek.

"The best thing you can do right now—the _best_ thing—is to come back with me. Come back to the shop. Go back to Fred."

"And then what?" she whispered, her shoulders shuddering a bit.

He squeezed them. "And tell him you love him. That's it. That's all. Tell him you love him. And all will be right."

George wasn't sure what else he could say to convince her, but luckily, he didn't have to—Ava pressed her lips together and nodded, and the invisible hands clenching around George's chest in anxiety—the ones that tightened when his twin's happiness was threatened—broke their hold.

* * *

With Dakota safely deposited back at the Treehouse, George and Ava hurried back through the Floo to get to the shop as fast as they could.

"The opening's probably already begun," George said breathlessly, leading the way and practically sprinting out of the flat. "I don't want him to know what happened just now, not yet, you understand? Let's slip in, pretend we've been there all along, swallowed by the crowd or some bullocks, and-"

But his words were cut short as he and Ava left the flat and dashed out on to the landing leading to the third floor of the shop. They stood frozen in place. It was empty, still...quiet.

"Hello?" George called out, rubbing the back of his neck and starting to jog down the stairs, Ava on his heels. "Fred? Lee? Verity?"

A shuffling noise broke through the silence below them, and Fred jogged out from behind the register area, tilting his head back and only pausing for a moment before widely grinning as he took in the sight of George and Ava hurrying down the stairs.

"George, they're nearly rioting out there, you should see the crowd, bigger than our opening I tell you—what have you two been doing?" George and Ava reached the last flight of stairs, and Fred's eyes were wide as he took in the sight of George—there were a few stray twigs mussed around in his hair, and his formerly sparkling-new uniform was streaked with soot and dirt. "And where have you _been_?"

"Nothing. And nowhere," George said quickly, jumping from the fourth step up and landing with a wide grin, clapping Fred on the shoulder. "Explain later, mate. Where's Lee and Verity?"

"Outside," Fred murmured, his gaze straying from his twin to Ava and eyeing her somewhat suspiciously. "Doing the pre-show."

At that moment, the double doors of the shop swung open, the hyena laughter bell loudly echoing throughout the space, and two figures spilled inside. The roar of the crowd came in through the open doors for only a moment before one of the figures—Lee—kicked them shut behind him, Verity at his side.

"Thank Merlin you're back!" Lee exclaimed to George. "They're going wild—the crowds are going wild! We're going to have to let bundles of people in on an interval basis, you hear me, there's no way they can all—what are you lot staring at?"

Fred, George, and Ava were staring at Lee, open mouthed, too distracted by his and Verity's appearance to pay attention to what he was saying. A thick, banana colored python was draped around his neck, a saxophone was slung over his chest, and he held brightly blue colored hedgehogs in each hand. Atop Verity's head, halfway buried in her hair, was an iguana, and she clutched a pogo stick in her arms.

"What have you been doing out there for the pre-show, pray tell?" George asked, sounding completely clueless.

Lee shrugged. "You told me to do whatever it took to keep them entertained, boss-man...what were your words? 'Anything, everything'?" He winked. "Don't ask. Mind helping us get all these little buggers back in their places?" He and Verity strode off, passing by the register and disappearing into the back room.

"Color me intrigued," George muttered to himself, still looking puzzled after he jogged after the two of them, leaving Fred and Ava alone.

Fred looked to her with raised eyebrows, and Ava shrugged. "I'm here," she said lamely.

It was only a second before Fred grinned widely again, reaching out to pull her against him, enveloping her in an embrace.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up," he whispered into her hair, his lips extending to kiss the top of her head.

Ava squeezed her eyes shut, the vision of the forest streaking by her as she ran through it playing behind her eyelids. A pang of guilt flitted around her chest. "I'm here," she repeated, her mouth against his shoulder.

Fred squeezed her again before holding her out at arm's length, studying her. "Are you alright?" he asked her.

_No, I'm not alright. I'm terrified._

"I'm just not feeling like myself," she whispered back, summoning the smallest of smiles to her face and raising and lowering one shoulder.

His left arm remained around her collarbone, twirling the ends of her hair between his fingers, and his right hand moved to cup the side of her face gently. "You going to be okay?"

Fred's eyes were locked with Ava's as he looked down to her, genuine concern all over his face and throughout his voice, his mouth twitching in an uncertain smile. And for some reason, at that moment, Ava was brought back to the second day she'd known Fred—three and a half months ago—when he'd held her at the entrance of the Treehouse, her knuckles bloody, her breath ragged, his body gingerly yet firmly crushed against hers and his chin resting atop her head.

_'It means...you're safe,_' he'd whispered to her.

She'd barely known him, but even then—from the beginning of it all—he'd managed to do what he was doing now. Keeping watch. Keeping her safe. He'd always done it, even when they'd barely known one another; hell, even when they weren't sure if they could trust one another.

"I'll be okay," she said softly, the truth. And she raised herself up on her tip-toes to kiss him, breaking apart after a moment only to wrap her arms around his shoulders and bury her face in the crook of his neck. "Because I love you."

Fred froze for a moment, his body still against hers and his chest pausing in movement as he held his breath.

"Because I love you," she said again, slightly louder this time, realizing why he'd said it to her over and over again. She wanted her words to surround him, layer his skin like a salve and sink in, saying it over and over again until it sunk deep enough to reach his heart.

_'You are sewing the bloke back together piece by piece',_ George had said to her only minutes earlier.

"Because I love you," she said, a third time. Another layer. Another stitch.

"Because I love you," Fred murmured back to her, and he turned his head to hold her face between his hands, the prickle of stubble around his jaw gently scraping her cheek before crushing his lips against hers.

Safe. He kept her safe, she knew that. She only hoped she could do the same for him, when the time came.

* * *

Four hours later, Ava practically waded through the seemingly endless sea of people and dashed her way up to the considerably quieter third floor catwalk. She sat on the edge; her legs dangling over the side and her chin resting on the cool metal railing as she people-watched from above.

"Needed a moment?" came a voice.

Ava looked up to see Lee grinning down at her. She raised and lowered one shoulder, smiling slightly.

"You could say that," she replied.

Lee nodded. "I think our new Employee of the Month deserves a break," he said in a declarative voice, still grinning and lowering himself to sit beside her. He swung his legs over the edge of the catwalk as well and they swayed their legs back and forth aimlessly in unison.

"Employee of the Month, huh?"

"Absolutely," Lee said without pause. Ava could see why he and the twins got on so well; there was something about Lee's smile and ever-present glint in his eye that gave him the appearance of being up to something. "Don't be modest; I saw you going from customer to customer, leaving fire in your trail. You convinced nearly everyone to purchase upgrades or expansions or things of the like." He shook his head in apparent disbelief. "What are you hiding, eh? Are you just an exceptionally amazing customer service rep?"

Ava laughed. "There are perks to having empath abilities, you know." A loud burst of laughter floated up from the ground floor and she turned her head down to observe the festivities as she continued speaking. "Knowing what people are into, what they're feeling, what they find amusing." She shrugged again. "It's fun."

Silence followed her explanation for a few moments, until she looked up to see Lee just staring at her, still smiling but with an odd look on his face, like he was trying to figure her out.

"What?" she asked.

"You just...you seem happier than before. When you first arrived a few hours ago."

Ava paused for a moment before answering him, a soft, heartfelt smile on her face. "I like feeling useful," she said simply.

"I could dig that."

The two continued to sit in a pleasant, comfortable silence for a bit before Lee extended his arm excitedly, pointing down. "Watch Fred! Watch, watch!"

Ava struggled to find Fred in the thick crowd below for a moment before finally catching a glimpse of his red hair. His hand was rummaging around in a large basket filled with what looked like oversized green quills, and the most mischievous of smirks played upon his lips. Ava followed his concentrated gaze to see him zeroing-in on George, whose back was turned only a yard or so away.

"What are those he's rummaging through?" Ava asked Lee as she still watched Fred.

"They're called 'MoSkeeters'," Lee replied, not tearing his eyes away from the scene unfolding either. "Twins stayed up until 4 this morning developing them."

"I was wondering why Fred came to bed so late."

"Watch."

Ava did as Lee instructed, her interest piqued more than ever as Fred extracted one of the long, neon green quills from the basket. He held it in his open left palm delicately for a moment, as though he was handling a butterfly. And just as the thought of an insect crossed Ava's mind, the quill sprouted lengthy, paper thin, nearly transparent wings from its middle, beating faster and faster until the quill rose into the air and began buzzing through the air gracefully.

"_Get 'em!"_ Fred suddenly roared to the quill, pointing to George violently like he was instructing a watch-dog to attack. Almost the entire store went silent, watching the display unravel before them.

George barely had time to whirl around in place just as the MoSkeeter zoomed straight towards him, the pointed part of the quill piercing George's shirt in the center, on top of his sternum. The product disappeared in a dainty puff of green smoke upon impact, and George's banana-yellow shirt suddenly started blossoming into a leopard-print pattern.

Fred threw his head back in a bark of laughter. "MoSkeeters, four Sickles a piece, but two for six and a Knut, a bargain! You and all your friends can be just as tacky as the REAL Skeeter!"

The crowd erupted in laughter, and then gasped collectively as George, an impish smile on his face and still splashed in animal print, suddenly lunged forward, extending his arms out like he was about to take flight and sliding on his stomach across the floor. He sailed under the display table for the Bird Call Beans and leapt to his feet, reaching to the side rapidly and grabbing a MoSkeeter of his own.

"_No, no, no!"_ Fred gasped playfully, backing up clumsily amid his own laughter and nearly tripping over his feet. But George's MoSkeeter had already taken flight, and before Fred could react, his shoulder was pierced with the enormous green quill. He swore as his shirt rippled and changed to bubblegum pink and black zebra striping.

The crowd was cheering, egging the twins on, and Ava and Lee sprang to their feet, looking down on the scene and joining in on the acclaim, their arms clapping above their heads and their feet stomping upon the catwalk. Fred and George continued their duel, sprinting around the store wheezing with laughter and attempting to dodge the other's MoSkeeters, and Verity was suddenly more or less ambushed at the register with patrons rushing to buy the product.

Ava was mid-whoop when she felt Lee lightly nudge her upper arm with his elbow. She turned to him, grinning.

"I gotta get down there. But nice smile. You flipped a switch, didn't you?" he remarked loudly over the roar of the chaotic mob below. "You look like you've just seen someone brought back to life." He laughed, shaking his head and dashed away, heading down the stairs to Verity's side and not giving Ava a chance to answer.

Ava looked back down to the ground floor. Fred was doubled over, hanging on to the back of a display case for support as he laughed, his pants covered in purple polka dots, his sleeves still pink zebra printed, and his chest now resembling snake skin. For only a second, she flashed back to him doubled over in a very different scene—on the stone floor in the hallway at Hogwarts, his hand bloody and broken, his face contorted as he cried. And the contrast between then and now—now, his grin wide, healthy, happy—was enough not to disturb or strike her, but enough to make her smile.

"Maybe I just did," she whispered back, knowing no one else would hear.

* * *

It was a week before the frenzy of the shop's re-opening finally quieted down enough to enable George calling an Order meeting at a reasonable time. The past seven days, the twins had kept the shop open until nearly midnight, but it was a Thursday that they eventually were able to close at promptly nine o'clock, George instructing Fred and Ava to meet at the Treehouse at ten after he'd had a chance to stop home for a bit.

It wasn't until half past ten, however, that the two of them came spinning through the Floo and stepped into a curiously empty Treehouse. They stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

"Maybe they gave up on us coming," Ava offered in a whisper.

"Why would they do that? And why are you whispering?" he hissed back.

"I don't know. Why are _you _whispering?"

"Why are you?"

"Why are you?"

Their playful nudging had evolved into shoving; they resembled juveniles wrestling on a play yard.

"Children, children, enough!" came a voice from above.

With Ava in a headlock in the crook of Fred's arm, they simultaneously whipped their gazes up to where the voice had come from. George was poking his head down from the top of the tightly spiraled staircase, where it disappeared into the second level.

"We're up here," George said, shaking his head and chuckling. "And you're late!" he added over his shoulder before he disappeared.

"See? We're late. That," Ava said pointedly as Fred released her, "is your fault." She poked him in the abdomen and he cringed, dancing out of the way and laughing.

"I regret nothing," he whispered, lunging forward to firmly grab a handful of her buttocks. "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy every-"

"Children?" George's voice called down to them shrilly again. Ava could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

She swatted Fred's hand away, hurrying in front of him on her tip-toes and starting on the stairs.

"So what if I did?" she whispered over her shoulder softly, winking and sticking out her tongue. Fred wiggled his eyebrows and she laughed again, turning back around just in time for them to reach the second level.

It was an area Ava had only really passed through, on her way back and forth from the first and third floors. The walls were curved and the room was circular, and made her feel as though they were standing on the inside of a hollowed-out doughnut, or bicycle wheel. It was also almost entirely made of glass; the floor-to-ceiling windows were crystal clear and gave the impression they were floating within the forest branches.

"Thank you for choosing to finally join us," McGonagall said in a stiff voice, looking rather tired. To her left stood Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and Ginny and Dakota sat—or sprawled, rather—on fluffy cushions spread across the floor.

"Let's get started, shall we?" George asked, nodding enthusiastically and rubbing his hands together.

"Is this it?" Ginny asked, sitting up from her cushion and climbing to her feet. She looked slightly disgruntled. "Where is everyone?"

"Yes, this is it, sorry to disappoint," George said lightly, sarcastically bowing towards his sister. Ginny offered him a rude hand gesture, quickly followed by McGonagall emitting a single, somehow curt-sounding cough.

"Alright, alright," George said. "We won't be too long tonight. Ava," he began, whirling to his side to face her. "I'd actually like to talk about you."

She paused. "Alright."

She watched as George clasped his hands behind his back, bowed his head, and began pacing back and forth. Dakota rose from the floor as well, his interest grabbed.

"Can you tell everyone," George said, slowing down his pace and coming to a stop, "what happened in the jungle? After you shot the Merryweather soldier, on the island?"

Ava raised a single eyebrow. "With the floaty things? You know about that already, Fred's told you."

"Stop being insolent," George teasingly chided, grinning. "Not everyone knows. We haven't had a chance to meet, not really."

Ava sighed. "He was sneaking up on us, about to attack Fred, and I shot him. He fell to the ground dead, and Fred told me to turn around."

"Where you saw...?" George pressed.

She fidgeted uncomfortably, uneasy with everyone staring at her. "It was...strange. Things were just kind of...I don't know, bouncing around."

"Bouncing?" Ron asked, his face scrunched in confusion.

"Floating," she corrected herself. Her mouth was dry. "Levitating. Rocks, leaves, tree bark, twigs. High as my head and higher."

"After that?" Hermione asked, staring at her with great interest.

"Grim Reaper, Bringer of Death!" Dakota suddenly howled, throwing his head back in laughter, and quickly reached up to adjust his makeshift eye patch.

Ava rolled her eyes and vaguely gestured to him. "He burst through a bush, yelling that." Dakota winked at her with his good eye, and she admittedly fought back a giggle. "And everything fell to the ground."

"Hm," McGonagall remarked, nodding slowly. "Did the Merryweather soldier perform a spell before you shot him, perhaps?"

"He must have," Ava replied.

"He didn't," Fred quickly followed. They stared at one another with raised eyebrows.

"Well...not for nothing, mate, but he could've said something you didn't hear," Harry said sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging. "It was chaos, wasn't it?"

"Bloody right it was," Ron muttered, and Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

Fred rolled his eyes. "I'm telling you," he insisted. "He didn't say anything!"

"Moving on," McGonagall pressed, losing her elegance for a moment as she yawned widely.

"Right," said George. He breathed in deeply and released it slowly, watching Ava warily as though he was preparing himself to say something to her. "Ava...is there any way...and just hear me out and think about it, alright? Is there any way...you could be a witch?"

The room fell into dead silence the moment after George asked the question, quickly interrupted by Ava laughing loudly.

"What? No! George...George come on, really...are—are you serious?" she sputtered, breathless disbelief in her voice. She scanned the room; everyone was watching her expectantly again.

"I'm serious," he repeated back to her solemnly.

"No," she said flatly, "I'm not."

"Why not?" he prodded.

"Because—because everything I can _do_-" she pointed to the side of her head—"only started _after_ Merryweather. We've talked about this; I don't know what the hell they did to me in there to make me able to do it all, but I certainly wasn't born with it-"

"I'm not talking about all of that," George said dismissively.

"Ava have you ever done things...growing up, maybe as a child in a challenging situation...done things that you didn't understand, or frightened people?" Hermione jumped in.

Ava let out a single bark of laughter. "Yeah, I apparently liked to eat whole sticks of butter as a kid, that was certainly disturbing."

"We're serious," Hermione answered.

"So am I!" Ava replied, holding her arms out at her sides. "Look, I see where you all are going with this, but you're really sniffing the wrong trail here. I don't have a magical bone in my body. I'm...I'm just...me."

George and McGonagall were looking at one another, exchanging glances and shrugging back and forth like they were speaking silently amongst themselves. McGonagall nodded to George, and George sighed, stepping towards Ava.

He extracted his wand from his back pocket and held it out to her. "Care to give it a whirl?"

Ava stared down at the thin line of light chestnut colored wood in his hand. "No way."

"Come on," George said, shaking it a little. Several tiny purple sparks flew out from the end, making him jump.

"You might as well, there's no harm in it," Fred encouraged her, staring down at George's wand as well. "It won't do anything spectacular, but give it a wave."

"What if I blow something up?" Ava asked suspiciously.

George shook his head. "It won't answer to you like that, it's mine. But if you're a witch, it'll at least respond."

"And if I'm not?"

"Then you'll just be an idiot standing here with a bit of twig in your hand," George replied, grinning. He reached forward to take Ava's wrist, held her arm out, and pressed the wand into her palm. "Go on."

Ava fought the urge to be incredibly juvenile, fantasizing for a moment about throwing the wand down upon the ground and storming out. She glanced up and met Fred's eyes with her own.

"It'll be okay," he whispered, winking.

She took a moment before nodding, and slowly walking to the other side of the glass-enclosed room. Coming to a stop, she took a deep breath before raising her arm, the wand grasped in her hand stiffly and awkwardly.

"What do I do?" she called out, heat rising around her neck and face as she became aware of the overwhelming sense of embarrassment she was feeling.

"Anything," George called back.

Ava shifted her feet back and forth, scanning her surroundings until her eyes rested upon another cushion resting on the floor, only a few strides-length away. She pulled her arm back, bending it at the elbow, and then jutted it forward to point it at the cushion.

There was a strange sensation in Ava's stomach as absolutely nothing happened, and she honestly couldn't tell whether it was disappointment or relief.

* * *

It wasn't long before the meeting concluded, and rather than heading back to the flat immediately, Ava and Fred found themselves taking a walk through the forest below, hand in hand but quiet.

"Dakota asked me to meet him tomorrow," Ava said, finally breaking the silence. "When you and George were talking for a bit before we left. He asked me to come back."

"For what?"

"He didn't say."

They continued walking, leaving the Treehouse and Burrow behind them and heading deeper into the woods.

"I know there's something bothering you," Fred said quietly, squeezing her hand. "I realize that was an...odd meeting, to say the least, but you just really seemed a little..." he trailed off, his voice hesitant, staring straight ahead into the dark trees.

"A little what?"

"A little angry?" Fred said it cautiously, offering it to her like a question at the risk of sounding accusational. After a second he laughed, holding up her hand he was holding and swinging it around a bit. "You don't need to hold this if you don't want to, you know."

"Of course I want to," she said quickly, regaining her firm grip and giving his hand a squeeze. "And I am angry. Not at you...maybe at myself, I don't know."

There was suddenly a silvery light leaking through the thick brush ahead, and as Ava followed Fred's lead and strolled closer, she realized they'd walked right into the enormous, circular clearing that was Crater Lake; the full moon's glow from above reflecting off of the glassy water's surface.

"Come to the platform with me," Fred said softly, leading her towards the makeshift dock at his side.

She stared at the ground as she walked, trying her best to gather her thoughts together. "I think I'm feeling angry because I'm so tired of feeling so damn _useless_ all the time," she admitted as they came to a stop, standing upon the rickety wood. "Believe it or not, it's kind of intimidating being surrounded by all of this, all the time."

"All of what?"

"Magic?" Ava said rather lamely, shrugging and looking away, doing the same as Fred moments before—offering it like a question, as non-commital as possible so she didn't sound silly. "Merryweather surrounded me with it for years to scare and threaten me with, and now with you, and George, and everyone...I don't know, I guess I'm still trying to figure out my place. How I fit in, how I can actually help, you know? Running and hiding and yelling has unintentionally become my forte, and...and I hate it." For a moment, she considered finally telling Fred about her escape attempt the week before; the words were dancing around the tip of her tongue, but she fought back, swallowing them. She wasn't ready to tell him yet.

Ava had been looking out at the water as she spoke, but as the platform rocked slightly beneath her, she turned sharply to look at Fred. He was nearly naked; his pants thrown off to the side, his shoes and socks missing, and his shirt balled up in his hands. He was grinning.

"What are you doing?"

Fred didn't reply, only tossed his shirt to the side as well, and began walking cautiously down to the end of the dock, fighting to keep his balance as the dock shuddered beneath him.

"Fred?"

He continued walking away from her wordlessly until he reached the end and bent at the waist, pulling down his underwear with him, and lifted his leg to kick them into the air behind him, where they landed on the dock in a crumpled heap. He stood there, completely still, the silvery glow of the moon practically refracting off his pale nakedness.

"Fred?"

Ava could have guessed what he was about to do next, but it still managed to surprise her anyway. He turned his head, resting his chin on his shoulder for a moment to lopsidedly grin at her, before facing front again and launching himself off of the platform and into the water with an enormous splash.

She gasped a little and jogged forward, standing in Fred's former place and looking down at the dark water, waiting for him to resurface. The seconds felt like hours and she cautiously dropped to her knees, peering into the lake.

"Fred?" she called his name again.

With no warning, out popped his head, breaking through the surface quickly and sending ripples through the water around him. He was grinning, but his lips were closed and pursed tightly.

"What are you-"

Fred promptly released a stream of water from his mouth directly on to her face. She flinched and squeezed her eyes shut as he laughed loudly.

"You're tired of listening to me complain, aren't you?" she asked glumly, rubbing the water from her eyes and sighing.

"No," Fred panted breathlessly, one hand reaching up to rest on the dock and the other, slicking his wet hair backwards as he blinked away water droplets. "I just want you to relax." He jutted his head to the side, gesturing to the lake as he bobbed up and down, treading water. "Come in and swim with me."

Ava eyed the pitch-black water surrounding him. It looked as though he was swimming in a pool of ink. "I love it here, but truth be told I kind of have a...thing, with lakes."

"A thing?"

"Yeah, a thing. I don't like not knowing what's at the bottom,"she admitted.

"_Wellll,"_ Fred started in a sing-song voice, the teasing about to begin apparent. "There's a reason it's called _Crater Lake_, you know." He pulled his torso upwards, leaning on the dock with his wet forearms and leaning towards her face as though he was about to let her in on a big secret. "There sort of is no bottom," he whispered.

She smiled, but rolled her eyes and slapped his arm lightly as he laughed. "That's worse, isn't it?"

"Oh, pish-posh, come on, the water's lovely!"

Ava grinned. "You're going to have to give me a better reason than that."

Fred paused. "Because I love you," he whispered, grinning back, and faster than Ava could have ever imagined, he reached up to grab her wrists, and dragged her across the dock belly-first until she came crashing into the water on top of him.

Their limbs were a violent tangle beneath the ice cold surface of the lake for a moment, before they simultaneously broke their heads through to the surface, Fred gasping for breath in laughter and Ava gasping for breath in surprise.

"I should've known better!" she cried, splashing him as her feet fluttered furiously, powering her to stay afloat.

He cackled, ducking underwater for a moment to avoid her splash and coming back up seconds later, still laughing.

"You may have been on to something with the nakedness," Ava admitted, pulling her shirt over her head. "Clothes kind of weigh you down while swimming."

"Who would've thought?" Fred asked sarcastically, beaming at her as she finished undressing beneath the water's surface and slinging her wet clothes on the dock behind her with a loud slapping sound.

She closed her eyes and sighed, treading water more calmly now. "Alright. That's better."

He chuckled, swimming backwards into the middle of the lake. "Come here, I want to show you something."

"I know better than that. You're going to throw water weeds at my head screaming its an octopus or something, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not. Really," he insisted, still laughing. "Come here."

She couldn't help but share his absolutely infectious smile as she swam towards him. He waited patiently until she reached him, facing one another and treading.

"Now what?"

"Lay on your back. Go on and float."

It wasn't that Ava didn't trust him, but her silly fears of vulnerability atop dark water, threatening to swallow her whole, made her pause.

As though Fred could read her mind, he reached out, sliding his arm underwater around her naked waist, pressing it against her spine. "I've got you."

She released a long breath that she hadn't even been aware she was holding, and in surrender, kicked her feet up until her body was straight, tightening her core muscles for balance, Fred's arm still cradling her from under. Her breasts and hips and toes had just poked through the top of the water, cold and dark and lapping at her pale, naked skin, when she realized what Fred had wanted her to see.

Ava let out a breath of relieved laughter. "Wow," she said softly, grinning, her own voice sounding muffled to her still-submerged ears. "It's beautiful."

The nearly perfectly circular hole through the trees surrounding them opened to a spectacular display of the night sky. It reminded Ava of her old home back in Vermont, where city lights shrouding the stars wasn't a thing. She sighed; it was calming to look at—the inky blackness highlighted with lighter bits of dark blue, streaked even lighter with violet and peppered with countless white stars.

"It's not so scary now, is it?" Fred asked softly, his thumb caressing the bare skin of her lower back.

For a few moments, Ava had completely forgotten that there was an entire underwater world beneath her, ominously deep and open and cold. She instead concentrated on the sound of Fred's voice, his breathing, his arm supporting her, the freshness of the water, the violet streaks in the sky.

Maybe Fred was right. Maybe the unknown didn't have to be so scary.

All it took was a change in perspective.

* * *

Fred and George were mysteriously absent from the shop's sale floor for nearly the entire time they were open the next day. Verity had a day off, so Lee and Ava were able to manage the flow of customers smoothly, grateful for another day of business slowly growing quieter since the re-opening.

It was closing time when Ava decided to finally disturb the twins. They'd been shut away in one of the back rooms, the one they used as their work space. She tapped her fingers on the door as a warning and slowly turned the knob, stepping in and shutting the door behind her quickly.

Fred and George were standing on either side of a large, scorched table in the center of the room, their palms flat against the surface and their heads bowed down, their foreheads nearly touching, as they studied a large scroll of parchment spread out between them. There were various metal bits all around the table as well, what looked like mechanical parts of some sort. The twins were muttering together, and Ava actually cleared her throat a little to get their attention.

They both jumped in place, equally startled, and almost knocked their heads together as they straightened up.

"Sorry," Ava said, "but it's about nine. I have to go meet Dakota."

George tapped the parchment with his wand and it rolled up, making a snapping noise and disappearing into thin air as Fred waved his own wand over the mechanical parts. They rose into the air and zoomed across the room, sorting themselves into various boxes.

"Dakota?" Fred asked, reaching up to undo a few buttons along the top of his shirt.

"Yeah, remember I told you he asked me to come see him today? I told you last night."

"Oh, I remember," Fred said, grinning and smoothing his hair back. He came to her, leaning down to kiss her and resting his hands on her shoulders. _"But who will make dinner?"_ he cried out in mock panic, shaking her back and forth in place.

"Yeah strange bird, you better listen to him, this is a cry for help," George chimed in from over Fred's shoulder, smirking. "Don't let him cook for himself. Or you. Or anyone. In fact, don't let the poor bloke anywhere near a stove-"

Ava was cracking up with laughter, and reached up to pat Fred's cheek gently. "I'm sure you'll survive. You're a funny one, you."

"Funny?"

"Yeah, funny. Your worries about Dakota have been replaced by worries about dinner."

Fred released her shoulders, grinning widely. "He lost an eye for us," he said, pointing to his own. "We're mates now."

"Is that right? Pretty high price for your friendship."

"Pretty _fair_ price for my friendship, if you ask me."

Ava shook her head, smiling back at his goofy grin before rising up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you later okay?" She turned around and headed for the door.

It was about to swing shut behind her when Fred's voice rang out through the silence, one last time.

"But really, what about dinner?"

* * *

Emptiness and quiet in the first floor of the Treehouse greeted Ava as she stepped through the fireplace. She started on the stairs, leaning her head back to look above her as she climbed.

"Dakota?" she called out.

He didn't have to bother answering; he was there, standing in the openness of the second level just as Ava's head popped through the hole in the floor where the staircase erupted through. He worse a sleeveless white undershirt again and loosely fitting sweatpants.

"Howdy," he said brightly, his hand rising to his forehead in a mock-salute.

"Erm...howdy," she replied.

As Ava stepped away from the staircase and headed towards him, she couldn't help but notice the addition to the room that wasn't there the night before.

"What's with the punching bag?" Ava asked, looking over his shoulder. Its cover was bright red and plastic looking, suspended from the ceiling by a thick chain.

"Ah, that," Dakota acknowledged, looking over his shoulder at it with a look of admiration. "Molly asked me if there was anything she could magic on in here for me to make my stay more comfortable. Sweet lady, she is."

"Yeah, she is," Ava agreed, heading over to the bag. She rested her hand upon its firm surface, giving it a little push and feeling slightly surprised at just how heavy it was.

"So why did you ask me-"she began, but her words were cut short as a nearly-naked Gabrielle, clad in nothing but a barely-there towel wrapped around her body, came softly padding down the staircase.

"Oh, 'ello, Ava," she said completely casually, flipping her long, silvery hair over her shoulder, unphased. "Heading downstairs for a bath, 'ave a nice night!"

She'd disappeared down through the staircase to the first level for a solid ten seconds before Ava turned to Dakota, open mouthed. "You—you-" she broke through the awkward silence, struggling for words.

Dakota chuckled. "Me, what?"

"Nothing!" Ava said, a little too quickly and a little too loudly. "It's just...well...that was rather quick, wasn't it?"

He raised his left eyebrow. "Pardon me, but I don't think my ears are workin' quite right. _You're_ scolding _me_? What are you and Fred doin' sharin' a big empty apartment by yourselves, then, huh, crackin' open God's good word and havin' yourselves a Bible study?"

Ava knew Dakota had intended it as a comeback of sorts, but even as embarrassed heat crept around her face, she couldn't help but laugh at his comment. "Alright, fair enough, _BUT_-" she paused for dramatic effect, watching Dakota cross the room and begin to rummage around in a box. "I've known Fred for three months, not three minutes." She pursed her lips tightly, desperately holding in laughter and awaiting his response.

"Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe," he replied, straightening up and giving a half, lopsided grin in good nature as well. "Now come over here, will you?"

As Ava neared, she noticed what he'd extracted from the box, he was playing with it, rolling it around in his hands—it looked like a roll of tape, the texture white and fabric-like. Boxer's wrap, like what Fox had around her hands back on the island.

She eyes the tape and looked back up at Dakota, a single eyebrow arched. "We're finally having ourselves a fist fight, are we?"

He laughed. "Not quite. Gimme your hands."

Ava sighed; no matter how much both he and Fred liked to deny it, they were very much alike, so she knew it was completely useless questioning demands sent her way, no matter how random or ridiculous they seemed. She held out her arms.

Dakota slapped her forearm. "Not like you're bein' handcuffed, ya dummy," he muttered, grasping her wrists and turning her hands around. "There. Now stay still." He gently pulled her fingers out, extending them, and began winding the tape around her right hand.

"I saw how much that all bothered you last night," he said in a surprisingly serious tone. He glanced up to look at her face for just a second before busying himself with her hand again. "Here."

"Yeah. It was awkward."

"Not awkward," Dakota said, shaking his head but keeping his face turned downwards. "It got to you. I saw it gettin' to you. Got to me as well, to be honest." He finished with her right hand, patting it and moving on to her left.

"How did it get to you?"

Dakota actually paused, silently staring down at her hand for a few seconds before looking back up at her. "Listen...me and you...we're different than them. We know we are, they know we are. We're all human, sure, but it starts and ends right about there." He stared off into space for a moment before going back to his work.

"Did you feel that way...about Taylor?" Ava asked cautiously.

Dakota continued, working on her fingers now, appearing unphased. "I did, yeah. Loved her. She was my sister, always will be. But it's hard bein' around someone who can do this stuff when you can't. Makes it hard always feelin' useful." He finished, patting the tape in place and looking up to meet Ava's eyes as she lowered her arms to her sides. "'Specially when I was at Merryweather. There was always somethin' in the air between the magic and non-magic folk." He paused, looking out into space again as though he was remembering something before snapping back to look at her. "Made me feel weak."

Ava nodded. "I feel weak sometimes. Sort of...all the time, actually."

He nodded back to her, and took a small step backwards. "I know."

"You know?"

"I can see it." He held his index and middle finger up and pointed them at his face. "In your eyes. All the time. Like you're desperate to do somethin'."

She bit her lip. "I feel like there's always so much chaos when we run into Merryweather, so much fear...and I can't do anything! Ever!"

"Not always true," he argued. "You use a weapon when you need to."

"Dakota, I did that out of fear," she said exasperatedly. "I just always feel so scared, you know? So weak and useless, like I want to run and hide..." she trailed off, becoming aware she suddenly felt kind of angry. "I'm tired of it!" she exclaimed. "I'm tired of always being scared. Being weak."

"You're not weak."

"I'm weak."

"You're not. Hit me." He held up both of his hands, palms facing forward, and bent at the knees.

Ava held up her stiffly wrapped hands. "That's what this is for?"

Dakota rolled his eyes but didn't change his stance. "Obviously I didn't wrap your fists to go do some ballet. Now hit me, gosh darn it, you'll feel better!"

She huffed, settling into what she assumed was a fighting stance and raising her fists in front of her, training her eyes on Dakota's large right palm.

"Hit me."

She jutted her right arm outwards, her knuckles barely making contact with his palm.

"Now that was just pathetic. Come on Ava, I know you got it in you. Hit me. Hit me!"

She did it again, harder this time, and then again immediately afterwards, even expelling a hiss of breath through her nose as she did so.

"Good. Good, that's real good! Other hand now."

Ava pivoted slightly, zeroing in on his left palm and punching it.

"You're not weak."

She punched it again, the anger at herself that had been swirling around inside her belly making its way up her torso, down her arm, into her fist, and depositing into Dakota's hand.

"You're not weak."

She hit his hand again, her teeth gritted, a sense of satisfaction growing inside of her at the sensation of her knuckles bursting against the meat of his palm, her arm muscle feeling strong.

He waved his right palm, wordlessly ordering her to switch, and she brought her right arm all the way back, past her ear. Although her eyes were seeing his palm, her mind was seeing other things.

The forest streaking by her as she ran through it, fleeing only a week earlier. The burning sailboat floating in the Caribbean water as she'd hugged herself, shivering. The inside of the cauldron that she crouched in at Zonko's. The backside of the staircase she hid behind with Arthur Weasley as Merryweather attacked Fred and George's shop. The cobblestone ground of the alleyway the night the twins found her, beaten and weak, facedown and at Gridgeon's mercy after he'd finally caught up with her. Cargo containers on her left and right, surrounding her like a maze as she streaked through the shipyard, fleeing and trying to protect Ryan.

Fleeing. Crying. Hiding. Running. Running. Always running.

"You're not weak, Ava."

She let her right arm go like a catapult, crashing it into Dakota's palm with all her might. She swore he actually flinched in pain that time, but he didn't waver.

He remained standing there, letting her hit him, the man who had once nearly sliced her throat, once made her so incredibly fearful for her life, who had once made her feel so helpless and weak—teaching her how to be strong.

_I'm not weak. I'm not weak. I'm not weak._


	31. Chapter 31--Gatehouse

**Chapter 31—Gatehouse**

The 1st of August dawned grey and dreary, and Harry hadn't even been at work for an hour yet before he found himself daydreaming; mindlessly doodling and his eyes glazed over, staring out at nothing in particular at all.

"Potter."

The sudden voice behind him broke him out of his stupor, and he found himself flailing about in his chair for a moment, nearly pitching backwards before catching himself and regaining his composure. Harry spun around to face the speaker, adjusting his glasses and slightly out of breath.

"Y-yes, I'm here," he sputtered stupidly, embarrassed warmth creeping up the back of his neck.

The man was standing at the entrance of Harry's cubicle, sneering but looking amused at Harry's display nonetheless. His height was absolutely towering, and he wore all black, his skin a dark cocoa and his head shaved. Harry vaguely remembered that the man was an Unspeakable who everyone called Reggie, but he had a feeling that wasn't his real name at all.

"I can see that," Reggie replied in his impossibly deep voice, still looking like he was fighting back laughter. "You're not busy, I take it?"

"No, not particularly," Harry replied quickly, his hands feverishly patting around on his desk in an attempt to cover up the crude drawing of a Hippogriff he'd been working on.

Ron's head suddenly appeared, sliding out from the edge of Harry's cubicle wall as he wheeled his chair backwards, peering around the partition and looking up at Reggie's back with a horrified look on his face.

_What's he doing here?_ Ron mouthed, and Harry did his best attempt at a subtle shrug.

"Good," Reggie replied. "I have orders to take you to the Minister."

Harry suddenly took notice of the long brown envelope Reggie had clutched in his right hand. He got to his feet and smoothed out his shirt.

"Weasley," Reggie said, not bothering to turn around but addressing Ron, still spying on him from behind, "you can come too."

Ron's ears flushed red and he disappeared behind his cubicle for a moment before rising to his feet as well. He feel into step beside Harry as they quickly strode down various corridors and swept through department atriums, taking care to stay close enough behind Reggie but not too close, the sneaking suspicion that their very presence somehow offended him growing stronger by the second.

The two guards flanking the doors to the Minister's department simply nodded at Reggie as they neared, simultaneously reaching out to grasp the brass handles and open the tall mahogany doors for the three of them to pass through.

"What's this about?" Ron hissed to Harry, daring to speak for the first time, his eyes frozen and trained ahead on Reggie's thick shoulders.

"No idea," Harry whispered back.

The entrance hall was empty with the exception of a pretty, raven-haired witch sitting behind a grand secretarial desk, currently scratching upon parchment with a pale pink quill.

"He's in a meeting, but I reckon he'd buy you a drink to do him the favor of interrupting," she said softly to Reggie, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously.

Both Harry and Ron nearly choked in surprise as they observed Reggie winking back at the witch, the smallest of smiles tugging on the edges of his lips.

"Thank you," was all he said, and he quickly strode to the door to Kingsley's office, a black door with a golden plaque that read, _Minister of Magic_. Still clutching the oversized envelope, Reggie raised his hand, one of his knuckles casually grazing the door to emit a single, muffled knock.

Kingsley's voice answered at once. "_Please_ come in!"

Harry took notice that the "please" sounded more like an actual begging request rather than a polite formality, and as the three of them filed into the room, he could see why.

Kingsley was sitting—nearly slumping—at his desk, looking absolutely exhausted as he stared up at the other occupant in the room—a plump, middle-aged man standing before him, red in the face and his left arm waving about wildly, an unnaturally colorful rooster clutched in his right. The man was babbling so fast he could barely keep up with his own words, stuttering and sputtering as he gestured around animatedly, not bothering to stop or even pause when Reggie, Harry, and Ron entered and shut the door behind them.

Kingsley shot Reggie a rather pleading look as the man prattled on.

"I'm telling you Minister, I'm telling you, this has been keeping me awake at night, I mean literally, literally keeping me awake, and I've been trying to get in here for weeks to speak with you, literally weeks, it's just such an honor that you're having me, I'm telling you, an absolute treat, really, but this has to stop, something has to be done, the colors can't be good for the animals, I mean look at him, he's miserable, literally miserable-"

The rooster blinked his lime green eyes a single time, his beady gaze staring at Harry, right as the Minister finally spoke up.

"I understand, Hultz, believe me, I have heard every word you've said and taken your concerns to heart," Kingsley said, rising to his feet and walking around to the other side of his desk, standing before rooster-man and clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I thank you for your time, and be assured I will be speaking to Headmistress McGonagall to make sure roosters are no longer used as test subjects for Color-Changing Charms in the students' classes."

"Oh thank you Minister, thank you, you have no idea how much this means to me, it's everything, literally everything, I just love animals so much, and when my daughter wrote me telling me what she was learning in class I knew I had to put my foot down, it's been unacceptable, literally unacceptable-"

"Thank you, Hultz, be assured I will be in touch," Kingsley interjected smoothly, giving the man's shoulder the slightlest push and steering him towards the door. He opened it for him and a single magenta rooster feather fluttered to the floor as the man exited, tears of joy streaming down his face.

Kingsley looked like he wanted to collapse against the door as he clicked it closed, whirling around to face them and releasing a deep breath.

"I'm surprised you gave in," Reggie said, a smirk on his face as he bent down to retrieve the feather. He studied it for a moment before casually flicking it away. "You know those charms are harmless."

"Are you kidding me?" Kingsley nearly panted, his eyes bulging as he walked back to his desk and collapsed into his chair. "I wouldn't have heard the end of it for weeks. Months, even. Sometimes it is easier to just...appease." He sighed, rubbed his face for a moment and then looked back up at Reggie. "What do you have for me?"

Reggie sat down in one of the three chairs facing Kingsley's desk, and Harry and Ron quickly followed suit. Harry watched curiously as Reggie opened the seal on the envelope, and extracted a wand, handling it delicately and placing it on Kingsley's desk.

"It took longer than I wanted, but I traced down the owner of the wand and his last known location before the island," Reggie said.

Kingsley nodded and looked back and forth between Harry and Ron. "Potter, Weasley...this is the wand of the Merryweather that Ava killed on St. Kitt's. Fred retrieved it and had it sent to me for analyzing." His gaze returned to Reggie. "First thing's first—did the wizard perform any kind of levitation charms before he died?"

Harry's memory suddenly flickered back to the meeting in the Treehouse a few days earlier, where everyone had bickered on whether or not the solider had performed a spell before Ava had shot him—her description of everything floating-_'rocks, leaves, tree bark, twigs. High as my head and higher'_.

"He did not. His last spell with that wand was a defensive one, approximately five minutes before he expired." Reggie tapped his fingers along the envelope sitting on his lap. "His name was Armand Martinez. Thiry-four years old, former Ravenclaw. Only child. Officially, his last documented movements were working for Morrisey Magical Parts Inc., as a distributor. A little over four years ago."

"And between then and now?" Kingsley asked.

"Nothing," Reggie replied. "He seems to have...disappeared. Quit his job and went under the radar somewhere. No paper trail of any kind—no medical care, banking, contracts. He simply vanished."

"That time table is awfully interesting," Kingsley murmured.

Harry took the bait. "Interesting?"

"Very," said Kingsley. "Fell off the map around four years ago. Right before Ava and the others were taken."

There was a moment of silence before Ron cleared his throat rather obnoxiously, and raised his hand a bit as though he was in class.

"Erm...I know something," Ron said. "Or at least I think I do. Something's ringing a bit of a bell, there."

"Go on," Kingsley pressed him, nodding.

"Well, it's just that...Morrisey Magical Parts Inc...I'm familiar with the name. Fred and George used to have their order forms and receipts and such littered all over the house. Mum would have a fit whenever she found new ones, because that meant they were inventing again."

Kingsley made a face. "Elaborate?"

Ron shrugged, picking at a loose thread on his clothes. "They make basic magical parts. Things like vials to hold virulent potions, little self-spinning wheels, charmed paints...Fred and George still use them now, as a matter of fact, for the shop." He shrugged again. "Just basic bits and pieces of things. Bread and butter for their inventions."

"Interesting," Kingsley said. "But what's the connection?"

"Zonko's," Harry suddenly said, and they all turned to look at him. "Morrisey is a staple for shops in the business of inventing. If Fred and George use it, isn't it safe to say Zonko's probably did as well?"

"Excellent, Harry," Kingsley said with a small smile, and looked to Reggie. "Any progress on tracking down Rudolph Zonko?"

"Not yet, Minister."

"See what can be done to quicken that process," Kingsley said. "He's wanted for questioning about the movements of his grandson. His business, Armand Martinez, Merryweather. They're obviously all interconnected somehow. Make him a priority."

"Very good, Minister."

Kingsley nodded down at the envelope on Reggie's lap. "And his last known whereabouts?"

"Ah," said Reggie, opening the envelope again and extracting what looked like a small pile of glossy photographs. "Here." He laid the photographs across the desk, fanned out like a deck of cards. Harry, Ron, and Kingsley leaned forward to look at them—there were six of them; all different viewpoints of a grubby looking building shrouded in low light. The building was a dull, brown brick, looking like perhaps an inn or boarding house of some sort, surrounded by a tall wrought iron fence and overgrown dead grass. The movements of a mildly busy town scene stirred in the background behind a line of abandoned buildings.

Kingsley looked to Reggie. "Where were these taken?"

"The outskirts of Inverness," Reggie replied. "And to be honest with you, Minister, I can't even be certain this is the right place."

"Come again?"

Reggie exhaled deeply, staring down at the photographs, his forehead wrinkled in thought. "When I finally tracked the last of his Wand Presence, it lead me here. Over and over again, I wasn't mistaken. But the building..." he trailed off for a moment before looking back up at Kingsley. "It's Impenetrable. The wrought iron is unbroken, not a gate or lock to be seen. Impossible to get a grip on to climb over, it's enchanted somehow, and I couldn't Apparate by it."

"The shithole apartment in Inverness!"

Harry whipped his head sharply to the right to stare at Ron, as did everyone else. Ron's face was pink again, but undeniably excited.

"Remember what Dakota said?" he said quickly. "When he was talking about when he still worked for Merryweather. Said he wasn't allowed anywhere else besides the compound and his 'shithole apartment in Inverness'!"

"You're right, Ron," said Harry, nodding encouragingly to his friend.

Ron grinned back and turned his gaze to Kingsley. "You think it's the same place, then? Merryweather soldiers all put up there?"

"It certainly doesn't seem like a coincidence," Kingsley replied. He stared down at the photographs for a moment longer before shuffling them back into the long envelope. He held it out to Harry, who took it, nearly cringing at the look of pure venom Reggie was currently spewing at him.

"Harry, Ron," he said, nodding to the both of them. "Take those to Dakota Murray. Confirm if it is the same place. Ask him more about his transport to and from the Merryweather compound."

Glad to be given something to do, Harry and Ron both sprang to their feet and headed to the door quickly, Reggie trailing sourly behind them.

"And please," Kingsley said softly, making the three of them halt in their steps, Harry's hand pausing on the door knob. "Remember to operate with the utmost secrecy, and the utmost subtlety. Ava warned us before, and she was not wrong...when Merryweather knows we are getting close, they escalate. They are not afraid to act. We all saw it on the island."

His dark eyes flashed between Harry and Ron for a moment solemnly, before nodding at the door, prompting them to leave.

* * *

Dakota, at this point, seemed perfectly used to people bursting in and out of the Treehouse fireplace. He sat at one of the long wooden tables, his guns disassembled and cleaning their parts delicately, lovingly, like someone polishing their favorite trophy.

As the emerald flames roared and Harry and Ron stumbled out, coughing a bit, he barely raised his left eye to meet them, his empty right socket still shrouded in bandage.

"Mornin'," he said, wiping a metal piece with a rag.

Harry sent him a vague smile, brushing the soot off his clothes vigorously, but Ron was staring at Dakota and the gun parts, apparently mesmerized.

"They—they come apart like that, do they?" Ron asked rather excitedly, stepping forward and leaning down over the table. "Who would've though? You should show this to my Dad, sometime, Dakota, he would love-"

"Don't touch that," Dakota interjected, reaching up to slap Ron's hand out of the way as it hovered over one of the parts.

"Sorry," Ron said quickly, clearly undeterred and swinging his legs over the bench opposite of Dakota to sit. "It is just really interesting though, the way these Muggle weapons work. I mean, really," he paused to gesture to all of the parts, "why make all these bits and pieces instead of it coming in one piece? The way you Muggles make things, it's just..." he trailed off and scoffed. "Crazy."

Dakota simply stared at him for a few moments, blinking slowly.

"Were you dropped on your head as a baby?" he finally said, and Ron was just opening his mouth to answer when Harry stepped forward, clearing his throat.

"Dakota," he said smoothly. "We were sent by the Minister. You know...Kingsley. We have to ask you some more questions about the old Merryweather compound, before it was moved."

"'Course you do," Dakota said brightly, turning around and rising to his feet. "Come on upstairs, boys, I've got myself a pretty sweet setup now."

Harry and Ron exchanged mystified looks as they followed him up the tightly coiled staircase to the third level, wondering what he could have possibly done with the small enclosed porch.

It was definitely different, that was for sure. Before anyone occupied it, it had been a simple sunroom with a few lounge chairs scatted throughout. When Ava moved in, an enormous white bed had taken up most of the space. Now, Dakota's personal brand was all over it—a twin sized bed was pushed up against the wall long ways, and a generously sized American flag was draped across the wall above it, held up by push pins. What looked like a mini-fridge was in the corner beside it (how it was running without electricity, Harry didn't know) with stacks of various Muggle magazines on top, the covers flashing colorful pictures of expensive cars and motorcycles. A gun catalogue and several dirty plates were sticking out from under the bed, and a set of free weights stood in the corner beside a small mountain of crumpled clothes.

"What do you think?" Dakota asked, holding his arms out at his sides and grinning with one side of his face.

"It looks...it's..." Harry struggled for the right words.

"It's very you," Ron said.

"Damn right it is." Dakota winked with his good eye and spun around, crouching before the mini fridge. "You two want a beer?"

"It's ten-thirty in the morning!" Harry responded.

Dakota whirled around again and stood up straight, twisting the cap off of the beer bottle and letting it fall to the ground. "I'm a growing boy, you know. Need my strength." He winked and took a swig.

Ron was still looking around the room. "How'd you get all this stuff, anyway?"

"Your momma got it all. You should see it, she keeps bringing me these outrageously rich meals. Says she researched, and calories are good for healing burns." He laughed to himself, taking another drink. "She's a nice woman."

"Yeah, she is," Harry agreed, the envelope of photographs suddenly feeling very heavy inside his coat. "Dakota, can I show you something?"

He eyed Harry somewhat suspiciously. "Yeah, alright."

Harry withdrew the envelope and opened it quickly, handing Dakota the glossy photographs and watching his face to gauge his reaction.

Dakota's forehead crumpled. "Whadd'ya have pictures of the Gatehouse for?" he asked, holding them up questioningly.

"The—the what?"

"Gatehouse," Dakota answered promptly, and tapped the top picture. "The shitty shack of a boarding house most of us stayed at when we weren't at work. Just what we all called it."

"D-Dakota!" Ron spluttered, holding his arms out at his sides. "Why didn't you tell us about this before?"

He arched his remaining eyebrow in response. "First off...I did. I was telling y'all all about it, when I was interrupted and told no one was interested in...what was it? A 'bloody layout of the place'?" He chuckled. "Aren't you more interested in finding out where the first Merryweather headquarters was?"

"Don't you think elaborating on where you stayed may have helped us out with that?" Ron exclaimed back.

Dakota took another swig of his beer. "No," he said flatly. "Dang, it's not as though we walked to and from the God-forsaken place everyday. We stayed inside, followed specific orders, and we were magically zipped over there and back. And that was about the extent of it."

"Specific orders? What kind of specific orders?" Harry asked thoughtfully.

Dakota shrugged at him while slugging back his beer before replying. "Just to be up and ready, full uniform in the Gatehouse at certain times, dependin' on our shift," he said, setting his glass bottle down on the windowsill. "Times varied, 'course, but-"

"What was that?" Harry interrupted suddenly.

Dakota's eyebrow shot up his forehead. "What was what?"

"What you said," Harry replied in a hurried voice, "about being up and ready."

Dakota was staring at Harry in a way that made him feel like his sanity, or perhaps his intelligence—or both—was being questioned. "Well, yeah. I guess they just wanted to make sure we were ready so when they popped us over, we were good to go."

"Exactly," said Harry. "They specifically needed you to be in uniform at certain times. Why would that be?"

Dakota held his arms out at his sides, what remained of his face twisting into an expression of annoyed disbelief and confusion. "So we wouldn't be appearin' at work buck-ass naked? What kinda question is that?"

"That's not what I mean," Harry said excitedly, turning around and heading towards the crumpled heap of Dakota's old Merryweather uniform in the corner. He pushed his glasses up his nose before crouching on the floor, reaching out to sort through the clothing items.

"I'd love to back you up here, mate, but I have no idea where you're going with this," he heard Ron say from behind, still standing with Dakota.

Harry momentarily ignored him, currently taking great interest in Dakota's white cargo pants; unbuttoning and unzipping all of the various compartments and pockets, pulling the legs inside-out and shaking them.

"If you're lookin' for cash, you're shit outta luck," Dakota drawled.

"Not cash," Harry replied not bothering to turn his head around as he continued sifting through the uniform, "just something like..._this_!" He jumped to his feet and spun in place to face the other two, his glasses askew and an almost giddy smile on his face as he clutched a single white combat boot.

Dakota and Ron alike were staring at him dumbfounded, their brows furrowed and mouths hanging slightly open.

"Have you gone mad?" Ron asked cautiously.

Harry pulled the tongue of the shoe taut, bending it backwards to show its underside on display. He tapped his finger on what had caught his interest so desperately—a tiny pocket, sewn into the tongue, where a glint of metal was nestled within the fabric compartment.

"What is that?" Ron asked, stepping forward to have a better look.

"Dunno," Harry replied, his forefinger and thumb fishing around inside the pocket, attempting to grab at the metal piece. He finally extracted it, pulling it from the shoe and holding it up, the light reflecting of of the coin-like silver disk.

"That's amazin', Detective Idget, you found my key," Dakota finally piped up, an amused look on his face as he observed Harry and Ron.

Harry froze, and simply blinked. "Your key?"

"Yeah, my key," he echoed, rolling his eyes and swaggering over to the two. "It's enchanted or somethin', I dunno what term you folks wanna use. But the gate to Gatehouse wouldn't open 'less you had it on you."

"Why would they be using charmed flat washers for keys?" Ron wondered aloud, taking the disk from Harry and bringing it up close to his face for studying.

"Flat what?" Harry asked.

"Flat washer," Ron repeated, shrugging and giving it back to Harry. "Just some Muggle hardware bits used to repair plumbing. Dad has a big collection of them. They're just-"

"Junk," Harry finished for him, staring down at the washer laying flat in his open palm.

"What are you getting at, mate?"

Harry looked up; both Ron and Dakota were staring at him quizzically again.

"Dakota," he said, licking his lips and speaking quickly, "I think this is a Portkey."

A beat of silence followed.

"Brilliant, Harry!" Ron exclaimed.

"Now wait just a second," Dakota said, waving his hand from side to side. "If it were what you're sayin' it is—a Portkey—wouldn't you be transported somewhere right here, right now, just by holdin' it?"

"Not necessarily," replied Harry. "Portkeys can be made one of two ways—for instantaneous transport, like what Gridgeon did to the display table when everyone fought him at Fred and George's shop—or, for timed transport. Like, it'll only work when everyone in the designated group grabs hold, or...only activated and de-activated for specific times during the day."

Dakota was thoughtfully frowning as he stared down at the silver washer in Harry's hand. "So...what, you think they had us dress in our uniform, knowin' we'd have that-" he pointed to the washer "-in our boots, activatin' them as Portkeys at their beck and call?"

"That's exactly what I think," Harry said, nodding back.

"How can we know for sure?"

"Well," Harry started, "We'd have to talk to someone whose an expert on Portkeys. Someone who can tell if an object is one, or has ever been one. Someone who also can tell us how close the Portkey creator has to be to activate and de-activate it—that will give us a clue to where the old Merryweather was, in comparison to the Gatehouse."

"Someone who works for the Department of Magical Transportation," Ron muttered, and his and Harry's eyes met.

The two old friends both sighed and spoke in unison.

"Percy."

* * *

A couple days later, Fred, George, and Ava were the next party to take the Floo to the Treehouse. Dakota, Gabrielle, and the heavenly smell of a seafood soup greeted them.

"Ron's told us all about the photographs," George said excitedly, both himself and Fred simultaneously swinging their legs over the bench to sit across from Dakota as Ava wandered off to the small open kitchen, where Gabrielle was cooking. "Let's see them."

"Be my guest," Dakota muttered, sliding them over the table top to the twins, who leaned in together to look closely. His nose was twitching and his eyes wandered over to the kitchen, watching the girls gab to one another excitedly as they maneuvered around, selecting knives for chopping and pushing buttered rolls into the oven. "Baby? Baby when's that thing gonna be ready, I'm starvin' and that oven is makin' it hotter than a billy goat's ass in a pepper patch." He grabbed at his shirt collar and tugged it away from his throat to emphasize his point.

He could hear the twins sniggering at his outward use of the pet name 'baby' for Gabrielle, but he ignored them as she turned her magnificent head around, resting her chin on her shoulder as she stirred a large pot. "Shortly, _mon petit tamia,_" she said, batting her eyelashes. "Bouillabaisse takes time to be perfect, you know?" She blew him a kiss and turned her attention back to the soup.

"Alright, playboy, look here," said Fred, tapping the photos on the table. "Harry said he thinks you were being transported back and forth via Portkey. We think he's on to something."

Dakota shrugged. "He very well could be, I don't know enough about that stuff to confirm or deny it. All I know is, we were warned from day one—never to go where we weren't supposed to go, because we had something on us they called a Magnet Trace."

"Yeah, we remember you mentioned that," said Fred.

"Did some research," followed George.

"Load of bullocks," Fred finished with a roll of his eyes.

Dakota pressed his lips together, staring at the table before releasing a long sigh. "Whatever," he said. "Can't exactly say I'm shocked for bein' lied to."

The twins exchanged looks before George spoke again.

"Also," he said, "we've been talking to our brother, Percy. Audrey's husband. He works with Portkeys and he was able to tell us the range someone has to be in to activate a Portkey from afar."

"That means," Fred continued for him, "we can know from here," he tapped the photograph again, "how far the Merryweather compound was. Narrows down our search quite a bit, eh?"

There came a sudden loud sound from the kitchen, like the clattering of a spoon. The three of them at the table turned to see Ava, turned around and leaning on the counter staring at them, flecks of reddish stew broth splattered across her shirt, neck, and face.

"_Grim Reaper, Bringer of Death!"_ Dakota exclaimed in a yowl, throwing his head back and laughing. "Or rather, Bringer of Soup, not quite as diabolical lookin' as when you had the blood sprayed all over your face-"

"Shut up Dakota," Ava said a little breathlessly, her eyes trained on Fred. Her porcelain skin was even paler than usual and her lips were parted. "How far?"

"What?" Fred asked.

"How far?" Ava repeated, taking a dish towel Gabrielle offered her and patting her face with it, but not tearing her eyes away from staring at him. "How far did Percy say?"

Fred blinked, taken aback by her sudden intensity for a moment before responding. "About 113 kilometers," he said. "Roughly 70 miles."

Her eyes were drawn down to blankly stare at the countertop for a bit before whipping her head up again.

"We have to go," she announced.

"What?" George repeated, echoing Fred. "Are you mad?"

"Probably, yes," she replied, tossing the dish towel to the side and striding around the side of the island, nearing the three stunned men at the table. "But we should go. See if it's still being used."

"What good will that do?" Fred asked curiously.

Her gaze swept across the three of them, excited now. "You said headquarters was moved to another location, after you left us the first time, right?" she asked Dakota.

"That's right."

"Well," she continued, "if the Gatehouse is still in use, we know the new location can't be too far from the old one. Two birds with one stone." She smiled and shrugged, turning on her heel and flouncing back to the kitchen, touching a wide-eyed Gabrielle on the shoulder as she passed and clattering about in the cabinet, extracting bowls and spoons.

They all stared after her before Dakota spoke first.

"She's right, you know," he muttered, making a face and jabbing his thumb in Ava's direction.

"I heard that!" she called out in a sing-song voice.

George waved his hands back and forth, like he was swatting at invisible flies. "This is all very exciting, but let me say two bloody words before you go putting together a travel itinerary._ St. Kitts_. We were all nearly murdered. Literally. We're not swooping down on them over there just to see if they're using it." He mimed walking in place, reaching out, and opening a door, craning his neck and poking his head through the imaginary doorway, a naive, jolly look on his face. _"Oh hello, it's just us, you know, the blokes you want to kill,"_ he piped, his voice dripping with sarcasm. _"Just dropping by to see if you're still housing soldiers. Oh you are, are you? Good to know. We'll be going now." _Then he dropped the facade, letting his arms fall. "Suggesting something like that again? What the actual fuck, Dakota, even_ I_ know that's overly reckless at this point."

Dakota joined in on laughing with Fred as he responded.

"You don't get it. Gatehouse-" he slid one of the photos closer to George "-isn't a full-blown military compound. It's kinda pathetic, to be honest—it's just an old boarding house. Once you get by the fence with the dang key in your shoe, the line of defense is limited to a fat lazy bastard named Charlie who just sits by a desk in the entrance hall watchin' bad TV." He laughed again and shook his head. "His job title is to be professionally nosy. Keeps a log of who came in and went out at what times and gives the log to one of the higher-ups, who pops in every few days." He shrugged. "There's some hoodoo-voodoo witchcraft on the place so random passerby don't show any interest in the place, but that's about it. As long as you have this, you're in." He fished around in his pocket for a moment before taking out the flat washer and showing them.

"So...if we can just get by Charlie, distract him long enough...we can check the rest of the building? See if it's still occupied?" George asked slowly.

"Yup."

"Harder than it sounds though, really," George said softly, staring into space and thinking out loud. "We can't go doing anything overtly obvious, like fighting him and causing a racket, or wiping his memory. Anyone questions him on what went on, they'll know it was something fishy. What's something we can use, any thoughts, Fred?" He turned to his twin, but Fred was staring into the kitchen with an odd look on his face.

Fred was watching Ava and Gabrielle in the kitchen, interacting happily, joking, their laughs light and airy like bells in the wind, their matching blonde manes of hair swinging near their waists, they were both absolutely stunning, really—

"Fred?"

Fred didn't take his eyes away from the girls, but a devilish smirk began spreading over his face.

"Maybe...for the right distraction...we don't need something...but someone. Two someones, to be exact."

George and Dakota followed his gaze, and stared at the two girls as well, realization hitting them.

Ava and Gabrielle noticed the sudden hush in conversation, and turned to look at the three boys, their grins quickly melting from their faces as they noticed the smirks on all of their faces.

"Oh, shit," Ava moaned. "What are you about to ask us to do?"

* * *

"Would you tell your stomach to _please stop_ the bloody gurgling?!"

"I think I ate too much bouillabaisse."

"I could have told you that by your fourth bowl."

"I...I don't feel so fantastic."

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, _enough with the gurgling, you're about to wake the whole village!"_

There came a sudden sound from down the road, like someone stumbling in place—feet scraping against stone.

"Shut it, both of you!" The warning came from Fred, reaching out behind him and flailing his arm about, swinging and trying to hit George and Dakota. "Someone's coming."

They were silent at once and shrunk back against the crumbling wall of the abandoned building they were currently standing in, watching the Gatehouse from a distance. The shadows swallowed them and they dared not even breathe as a Merryweather soldier, who had just appeared out of nowhere in the empty factory across the street, stepped out of the dark ruins and started making his way towards the brown brick building, casting glances over his shoulder every few seconds.

"So they're still scuttling about here, then-well, he didn't Apparate," Fred breathed when they were sure he was far enough away. He poked his head around the edge of the uneven, deteriorated wall again to watch the soldier's retreating back. "That was a Portkey arrival, I'm sure of it."

"Where'd the girls go?" Dakota hissed, and a sudden scuttling sound from behind them answered his question. The three boys jumped and nearly fell over into the rubble, only to be greeted with Ava and Gabrielle climbing over a fallen brick wall and jumping into the crevasse alongside them.

"Hey idiots, these ridiculous getups aren't exactly made for scaling ruins," Ava whispered, hitting them all on the sides of the head one by one as they doubled over with their hands over their mouths in suppressed laughter.

Gabrielle scowled at them as well. "Zey are a leetle, eh..._much,_ no?"

Dakota and the twins straightened up, wiping tears of mirth from their eyes.

"No, no, I think they're just right, actually," Fred said in a low voice, looking Ava up and down appreciatively.

She slapped him on the arm before tugging down at her impossibly short skirt. "Yeah, just right for _you_. You're not the one dressed like Little Bo Peep on crack."

It took everything the three boys had to not collapse into laughter again as the girls stood there looking murderous. 'Little Bo Peep on crack', although a bizarre comparison, was scarily accurate—the girls wore matching dresses of pale pink taffeta, the hemlines barely covering their buttocks properly to begin with and even further fluffed up with thick white petticoats that resembled ballet tutus. The bodices were lace-up, like a front facing corset, and didn't even begin to provide the coverage necessary for their breasts. The dresses were finished off with white thigh-high stockings and their light golden hair piled into messy buns atop their heads.

George shrugged sheepishly, his face visibly red even in the darkness. "Look, I asked Verity if she had any...erm..._provocative_ costumes, and if we could borrow one and clone it with a Copycat Charm." He shrugged. "This is what she came up with."

"How did you know she was going to have little costumes in the first place?" Fred murmured, watching the road again.

"She works in that Muggle go-go bar on some weekends, remember?"

"Right." Fred turned back around and cast a collective glance at all of them. "Are we ready? Ava, Gabrielle, you have the treat?"

"Got it," Ava responded, patting the corset. "Just one last thing—Dakota, what's the name of a fellow soldier you _really_ hated?"

He didn't have to think long. "Dave Radley."

Ava nodded to him, then to Fred. "Alright, we're set then."

Fred nodded back, who nodded to George, who began creeping out the side of the shadowy ruined building, waving over his shoulder for the others to follow.

The five of them did an odd, cat-like tip toe down the side of the cobblestone street, taking care to stay against the edges of the buildings that cast out long shadows. As the Gatehouse drew nearer and nearer, Dakota took a couple extra strides to take the lead, silently gesturing down at his boot that held the flat washer.

They were mere feet away from the wrought iron fence that surrounded the small property, the brown brick building with boarded up windows blending in with the dark night. The twins and the girls shrunk back against the neighboring wall, watching as Dakota quickly made his way up to the fence, reached out, and grasped on to one of the black bars, obviously familiar with the routine. The bars suddenly began to shake a bit, then wiggle and twist and meld together, until a small section to the right of Dakota's hand had taken on an entirely new shape—a gate.

"Piece'a cake," he whispered, winking over his shoulder, and simply pushed it open. They cringed at the slight squeaking noise the hinges made as they crept through, and just as Ava turned her head to look back behind her, the gate transformed into the tall, threatening fence again.

"Ladies first," Fred said in the lowest of whispers as they approached the moldy looking door. George and Dakota dropped down into a crouch below the window, the tops of their heads tickling the sill.

"Remember...we only need two or three minutes," Fred muttered hurriedly, hanging on to Ava's wrist. "If something goes wrong just let your fists fly and come up the stairs screaming; we'll figure it out. You hear me?"

"I hear you."

Fred leaned down and pressed his lips against hers for only a second.

"Because I love you," he whispered.

"Because I love you," she echoed back.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, we all love each other," hissed George, looking up at them and rolling his eyes. "Now get in there, will you?"

Ava turned to Gabrielle; grey-green met sapphire as they made eye contact, and counted down together, their mouths forming the number but no sound coming out.

_'3...2...1—'_

"AYYYYYY!"

They'd flung the door open, Fred scurrying behind it just in time, and jumped into the doorway, arms over their heads as they shouted the joyful greeting, their hips popped to the sides.

A fat, greasy looking bald man sitting behind a dusty desk in the foyer nearly jumped out of his seat, his eyes were wide in surprised terror and his mouth agape, bits of pretzel falling out.

"What—who are you?" he gasped, choking on the pretzel and grasping his throat.

"Who are WE?" Ava exclaimed back, pulling the door shut behind her and falling into step besides Gabrielle as they marched towards the desk like models on a bizarre, decrepit runway.

"_I am Adele,"_ Gabrielle purred, leaning over the desk and taking hold of his tie, yanking him forward.

"_And I am Agnes,"_ Ava followed, perching the edge of her butt on the desk and batting her eyelashes at him from over her shoulder.

"W-w-what are you ladies doing here?" he sputtered, his chins wobbling with every 'w' he spoke.

There came a scraping sound from the front wall; Ava could only imagine the boys outside wrestling with one another to try and peer through the cracks in the boarded up window.

"W-w-what was that?" he exclaimed, looking between Ava and Gabrielle at the front door with a mixture of terror and excitement on his face, in anticipation of more blonde beauties in petticoats busting the door down.

"Pay no attention to zat," Gabrielle growled, grabbing the man by his face, her thumb on one side of his mouth and the rest of her hand on the other, squeezing and making his lips pucker. "Pay attention to _me_."

"To _us,_" Ava added, reaching over and touching his sausage fingers.

"How...how did you ladies get here?" he asked, his mouth still squashed between Gabrielle's fingers.

She slid her gaze over to Ava, who began tracing circles on the skin of his hand.

"Why, didn't you order us...Mister Radley?"

At that, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He stumbled backwards, out of Gabrielle's grasp, whipping his head up to look at the several swirling levels of stairs and landings above him.

"Radley, did you say?" he spat out, his face reddening further. "I think I'll have a word with him, that fool! Ordering women right to the bloody front door-" He began marching around the side of the desk, his beady eyes trained on the rickety looking staircase.

"Say nothing!" Gabrielle suddenly exclaimed, jumping in front of him and placing her hands on his shoulders. "I thought we were 'aving fun?"

"_So_ much fun," Ava said in a husky voice, touching his back and fighting the urge to gag as her fingers met the sweaty moistness of his shirt.

Gabrielle, acting as the outrageous and thirsty Adele, began pushing on his shoulders, backing him up to the desk until he slammed into it, his pencil cup rolling across the surface.

"Ladies—girls—I c-c-can't," he stammered, reaching up to mop his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. "I'm...I'm supposed to be working-"

"Looks like a slow night to us," Ava remarked in her best attempt at a seductive voice, and Gabrielle nodded vigorously, her lips pouting exaggeratedly at him.

"I...I...I-"

"Close your eyes!" Gabrielle suddenly commanded.

"What?" he panted.

"Av—Agnes!" Gabrielle cried out. "Cover 'is eyes!"

Ava ran on her tip toes to the other side of the desk to stand behind him, and Gabrielle began aggressively undoing his tie.

"Wh-what are you covering my eyes for?" he stammered as Gabrielle passed Ava the tie. She reached over his head and slipped it on like a blindfold.

"We just want to give you a little taste," Gabrielle purred, and when she was sure his eyes were completely covered, she began nodding vigorously at Ava over his shoulder with wide eyes. Ava fumbled around in her cleavage for a moment before extracting a brightly wrapped candy, passing it over.

He giggled.

"Taste of what, girls?"

"This!" Gabrielle hissed, plied his jaw open, and forced the candy inside.

He opened his mouth for just a second, looking as though he wanted to say something, but before he could, the Fainting Fancy hit him at full force. His feet failed from underneath him, and he collapsed with a graceless thump at Ava's feet.

Right on cue, the front door burst open, Dakota and the twins galloping inside. Dakota and George started sprinting up the stairs two at a time without a second thought, but Fred jogged up to the girls and paused.

"Remember," he said breathlessly, already backing away at a jog, "nick everything he's got. Make it look like you drugged him to steal his money. The candy lasts just under three minutes."

"We got it," Ava said, and Fred spun in place, tearing off after Dakota and his brother.

Gabrielle threw the wrapper to the side hastily."Grab heem...'urry!" she whispered frantically to Ava, who clambered over the desk, her scooting finally sending the pencil cup crashing to the floor. She cringed at the noise, although she wasn't sure why: the boys were making commotion enough, thundering up and down the stairs and hallways above, swinging doors open and slamming them shut again.

Gabrielle grasped his shoulders and Ava took hold of his feet; together, they dragged him away from the desk and rolled him over on his back. He emitted a single snore as they dropped him, huffing and puffing from his enormous weight.

"'urry! 'urry!" Gabrielle hissed as the both of them madly shoved their hands in and out of all of his pockets, taking everything he had on him—his wallet, the half-empty sack of pretzels, a packet of cookies, chewing gum, loose change, a set of keys—they shoved everything down into their bodices—

He snored again, and this time, Ava swore she saw his forehead crinkle, twitch, as though he was beginning to come to.

"Check behind the desk for any cash!" Ava commanded, pointing over Gabrielle's shoulder. She spun in place and practically ran into the desk; she was absolutely frantic, her face red and her hair sticking to her forehead.

"Take anything interesting, anything," Ava whispered to her, still watching the man's face intently.

Gabrielle disappeared for a moment as she squatted under the desk. Then, with a scoffing sound, she rose up, three bottles of various liquors clutched in her arms.

"Zees eez crazy!" she exclaimed. "'oo drinks zees much, really?"

The man suddenly let out a little moan, and his eyelids began to flutter.

Abandoning all efforts to be secretive, Ava clambered to her feet, grimacing in pain as she felt her stocking tear at her knee, her skin scraping against the rough wooden floor. She ran to the edge of the stairs.

"Let's go!" she called out at an awkward volume, her voice afraid of being too loud and starting a ruckus and yet afraid of being too soft, in fear they wouldn't hear her warning.

The staircase railing shuddered and the ceiling shook just as the three boys appeared on the landing, jumping down from the stairs above, their faces flushed and audibly panting.

"Come on, come on!" Ava squealed, impatiently dancing in place. Gabrielle ran swiftly behind her, the glass of the liquor bottles clanking against one another as she headed to the door frantically, grabbing the handle with the tips of her available fingers and pulling it open for them.

"Place is practically empty," Dakota gasped as he finished the last of the stairs, jumping to skip the last three and heading for the door. "Not even half as many rooms taken as there used to be!"

Next came Fred and George, their faces nearly matching the shade of their flaming red hair.

"Come on strange bird, time to go!" George said as he ran out the door after Dakota.

Fred came up beside Ava and grabbed on to her hand, and together, they were the last to make the mad dash out the front door, catching up to the others and sprinting off into the shadows.

It has been a bizarre night, for certain, insane, but good nonetheless—no one was hurt, they hadn't been caught, their recon mission was complete. As the five of them slowed down in the abandoned building, frantically joining hands and preparing to Disapparate away, they exchanged exhilarated grins, their breathing ragged and cheeks flushed. They nearly laughed aloud as they disappeared with a loud pop.

They'd been so careful—the boys had made quite the mad dash, like ghosts, tearing up and down the hallways of the boarding house so quickly, they'd been gone before anyone had the chance to investigate the ruckus outside their door. The girls had taken everything they'd needed to, everything they thought they would need to stage a scene; a raid from two sketchy women of the night.

But there was just one little thing.

Quite literally-one...little...thing.

As the large man on his back in the foyer came to, sputtering and blinking rapidly, he didn't notice it at first. But he would, in the minutes to come: the tiny, crumpled candy wrapper, carelessly thrown away in the corner.

The candy wrapper adorned with bright stripes of cobalt blue and canary yellow.

The candy wrapper with the tiny, but perfectly legible label, running across longways:

_Weasley's Wizard Wheezes._


	32. Chapter 32--Delve

**Author's Notes: hey everyone! A huge thanks to everyone reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following. I've been writing this story for almost a year now! Crazy, isn't it?**

**Just to answer an inquiry of sorts from the last round of reviews, a reader was wondering if we were at/coming close to the end. We've got 8 or 9 chapters to go, then an Epilogue. So, we're not there quite YET, but we're most definitely creeping towards it-I've got it all planned out. Hope everyone has been enjoying the ride! :)**

**I'll be uploading another chapter before the New Year, as well. Wanted to do that before I head off on a mini-vacation...going to be spending New Years Eve in Quebec City, Canada. Beyond excited, and big shout out to any of my Canadian readers! Can't wait to enjoy your country!**

**Here's Chapter 32-please review!**

Chapter 32—Delve

For five days, Ava carried a sweet and smug sense of accomplishment around with her. Merryweather had seemingly always been one step ahead of them, yet they'd been hilariously hoodwinked by a couple of girls in pink taffeta. Triumph still fresh in her mind, she longed to use her newfound confidence in the most juvenile manner—she'd been caught spacing out several times by Fred now, eyes glazed over and all, but she was too embarrassed to admit she'd been fantasizing about kicking Gridgeon in the shins, sticking her tongue out at him, and dancing away, with a spring of victory in her step.

The group of five from the Gatehouse mission hadn't gotten a proper chance to celebrate until the evening of that fifth day. And then, they'd decided that victory tasted like whiskey. Lots of it.

An abrupt tapping on the window gave them a rude awakening the following morning. Ava awoke with a start, squinting hard against the blinding sunshine streaming through her and Fred's bedroom window and grimacing something fierce.

"Fred," she rasped, her voice hoarse. "Fred."

She reached over to the other side of the bed, grasping his still fully-clothed shoulder firmly and shook him a little.

"Mmm," he grunted back in reply, not moving.

The tapping on the window intensified.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," she grumbled to no one in particular, and made the arduous journey of crawling to the edge of the bed, swinging her legs over the side, and standing. The room tilted and swam before her eyes.

_TAP. TAP TAP TAP. TAP._

"Somebody turn it off!" Fred moaned, his voice muffled as he remained face-down in his pillow.

Ava stumbled forward, her eyes nearly closed for squinting against the sunlight and her arms extended out in front of her for balance, aiding her in grasping the wall.

_This is what a drunken zombie looks like,_ she thought to herself stupidly, her mind still cloudy with whiskey and lack of sleep.

Her fingers finally made contact against the warm glass of the window, and she forced herself to open her eyes. She nearly jumped backwards in fright at what she saw—an enormous horned owl, its feathers glinting golden-brown in the early morning sun and its yellow eyes stern and angry, flapping furiously in place right outside the glass with a letter clutched in its beak.

"Should I—should I let it in?" Ava asked uncertainly, taking a small step backwards and glancing over to Fred.

"Mm," he grunted again.

With a heavy sigh and a look of deep trepidation to the owl, Ava slid her fingers under the sill and lifted the window. She had to duck quickly as the great bird came swooping in, its feathers briefly tickling the top of her head as it passed over her and managed a gentle landing on her and Fred's bed.

"Is it Sebastian?" Fred asked, sitting up slowly and rubbing his face.

"No," Ava replied. "This one's wearing some kind of medallion."

The owl dropped its letter on top of the bedspread and ruffled its feathers, letting out a few rather indignant sounding hoots. The gold medallion hanging upon the plum purple ribbon around its neck caught the sunlight and glittered.

"Give him a treat or something before he pecks our eyes out," Fred said in a similarly hoarse voice, reaching towards the letter slowly and eyeing the owl with great mistrust.

Ava hurried to Sebastian's empty stand in the corner and returned to the bedside with a handful of owl treats, depositing them down before the magnificent creature. It emitted what sounded like a hoot of gratitude and lowered its head to eat.

"He's from the Ministry," Fred muttered, his eyes on the owl's medallion while he ripped open the letter.

Feeling considerably safer from the enormous owl as it busied itself with the snacks, Ava lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed, and watched Fred read the piece of parchment for a few moments.

"What's it say?"

Fred apparently finished reading it, and then tossed it across the mattress to her, smacking his hands to his face and rubbing it again, letting out a single, humorless laugh.

"You've officially been summoned," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

_**Ava—**_

_**You have a meeting this morning at 9 o'clock with the Auror's office. Me and Harry will wait by the entrance to take the two of you in. **_

_** -Ron**_

_**P.S. please don't bring Fred along.**_

Ava looked up from the messily scrawled note.

"What the fuck is this?" she asked unceremoniously, brandishing the parchment.

The owl hooted again and suddenly took flight, launching itself from the bed and swooping out the open window.

"Hey!" Ava cried, rushing to the window and watching it fly away. She groaned and turned back around to face Fred. "We didn't even get a chance to write a reply!"

Fred laughed again, but Ava quickly understood he wasn't finding anything about the situation funny at all.

"No," he said, getting to his feet unsteadily and rising his arms over his head in a cautious stretch. "No, we didn't, but are you surprised?"

"What do you mean?"

He gestured to the note still clutched in Ava's hand. "I mean, come on, read it. 'You have a meeting this morning at nine'. It's not an invitation, love, it's a summoning."

Frowning, she read the note again. "What does he mean, the two of us, if he doesn't want you coming?"

Fred didn't even get a chance to reply, however, before their answer came—in the form of Dakota's voice, echoing down the hallway.

"Um...a little help here?"

Ava and Fred exchanged swift curious glances before exiting the room and heading towards the voice.

"_Shoo, ya filthy creature...go on then, shoo!"_

"Dakota, what are you-" Ava started, but immediately stopped talking as she and Fred walked out from the mouth of the hallway and into the adjoining kitchen, dining, and living room space. Fred doubled over in hysterical laughter, while Ava remained frozen in her steps.

Perched upon the ridge of one of the mismatched dining chairs was another majestic owl, this one snowy white but wearing the same Ministry medallion. It had dropped a note on the table, which Dakota was currently backing away from slowly.

"Shoo!" he repeated, waving his arms in the air like a windmill.

The owl continued to watch him, as though amused by his wild behavior.

"It wouldn't stop tappin' on that window over there," said Dakota, jabbing his finger over his shoulder and pointing into the living room. "What do we do with it?"

Fred finally stopped laughing long enough to let out a whistle, and the owl finally broke his attention away from Dakota. He tossed another treat into the air, and the owl took flight, catching the snack in its beak and swooping back around, out the window and disappearing between the rooftops.

"That thing," Dakota said slowly, "was creepy. Jus' plain creepy."

"Well," announced Fred, "it looks like we know who 'the two of you' are, now."

Dakota frowned. "Whadd'ya mean?"

"Read it and weep, friend."

Puzzled but visibly relieved the owl was gone, Dakota stepped forward to finally retrieve his letter. His eyes scanned it rapidly, twice, then three times, then let his hand grasping it fall to his side and looked up at Fred and Ava.

"And just what in the hell am I supposed to do with this?" he asked, his voice particularly sarcastic and twangy.

Ava held hers up. "I've got one, too."

"Huh?" Dakota read his letter again. "Does yours say not to bring Fred, too?"

"Yup."

"Oh, no. No, no, no," Dakota said, waving his arms around again, the paper flapping in his hand. "We ain't gonna go to this office without _you._" He nodded towards Fred. "We'll do something stupid, or get ourselves blown up! We need you there!"

"Very true," Fred replied airily, heading into the kitchen and busying himself with the tea kettle. "I have every intention of coming, but you two better get a move on."

Ava's already queasy stomach experienced an unpleasant dropping sensation. "What time is it?" she asked, horrified.

Fred took his sweet time spooning tea leaves into a strainer before glancing at the clock on the wall and answering.

"Ten minutes to nine," he said casually.

"Fuck!"

"Shit!"

Ava and Dakota hissed cursewords simultaneously, abandoning their summons on the ground and practically galloping down the hall to the bathroom.

"There's no time to shower!" Ava said hysterically, skidding into the bathroom behind Dakota as he reached for the shower curtain.

"Well there needs to be, I smell like the bottom of a bottle of—GAH!"

He'd torn the curtain aside and stumbled backwards in surprise; Ava leaned over his shoulder and saw what he'd been so shocked to see-Gabrielle lying in the tub, her tall figure curled up in the fetal position and her jacket being used as a pillow.

"There ya are!" Dakota exclaimed.

Gabrielle squeezed her already-closed eyes tighter, making tiny lines appear around her temples. "Do not speak so loudly, I 'ad too much wheeskey."

"Join the darn club," Dakota said darkly.

Ava smacked his arm and whirled around to face the mirror. "Come on Dakota, we've got like, five minutes!" She put her hair band between her teeth and began hurriedly pulling her long blonde hair into a ponytail, while he squirted the tube of toothpaste directly into his mouth and began to vigorously swish with water.

A quick exchange of privacy for the toilet and two wild minutes later, Ava and Dakota, still smelling faintly of liquor and dressed in last night's clothes, sprinted back down the hallway and stumbled into the kitchen, where Fred was leaning against the countertop breezily mixing honey in with his tea.

"Fred!" Ava exclaimed, spinning around in a frantic search for her shoes. "I thought you were coming with us?!"

"I'll be around in a bit," he replied, his spoon clanging against the inside of his tea mug. "I'll have to get downstairs and help George open the shop first. It's a Saturday, the last of three before Hogwarts term starts up, mind you."

"So?!" Dakota demanded, hopping in place and nearly falling over as he forced his foot into his boot.

"So, it's going to be slammed and George and Lee will have my head if I don't at least show my face and _pretend_ I'm helping," he said with a wink. "Tell you what—you two go ahead first, and I'll meet you in an hour, alright?"

"'Go ahead'?" Ava asked with exaggerated incredulity, holding her arms out at her sides. "Go ahead _where_, exactly?"

"Ah," Fred replied, walking calmly by the bewildered Americans and striding into the living room. He gestured to the fireplace. "In you go."

"That," Ava said, eyeing the mantle like it was some sort of sworn enemy, "is not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Must you ask?" Ava deadpanned. "I'm still drunk from last night. Give me a break."

Fred exploded with laughter again.

"Well," he finally said, "it's either this or flushing yourselves down a toilet." He shrugged innocently. "It's your choice."

Ava stared at him for a few moments to determine if he was joking or not, and when she saw he was serious, she dragged her feet into the living room and stood before the fireplace with a great sigh.

"Have fun," Fred offered, beaming at her over the top of his mug as he took another drink of tea. He tossed in a handful of Floo powder for her, and in one fell swoop, swatted her across the butt while he brought his arm back.

"Listen here," Ava said, jabbing him in the chest with her finger. "I'm about to projectile vomit whiskey inside a fireplace. Don't test me, Weasley." And she strode into the flames, calling for The Ministry of Magic before she disappeared.

Dakota sidled up next to Fred, looking equally disgruntled at the idea of taking a trip through the Floo, and Fred sighed.

"I love that girl."

* * *

In the thirty or so seconds it took for Ava to arrive at the Ministry, she did not vomit (thankfully), but she did find herself wondering what kind of place she was about to find herself in.

When she was thirteen years old and in the seventh grade, her class had taken a two-night long trip to the Capitol of the United States—Washington, D.C. They'd toured and seen it all—the Capitol building, the White house, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial—but the thing that had stuck out to her the most was the tour of the Pentagon. The spotless white walls and the numerous photographs, seals, and flags hung upon them, the gleaming gold lettering: Department of Defense, and the collected, nearly solemn atmosphere in the hallways. Before entering, she had immaturely imagined the interior of the Pentagon to be like a raging battleship—uniformed men and women dashing around barking out orders, sirens blaring every so often, computers tracking missiles criss-crossing the globe. But instead, it had been...eerily quiet. The space itself radiated dignity; she remembered feeling ashamed at the mud she'd accidentally tracked in with her shoes. Even the way the female tour guide's high-heels clicked against the polished floor somehow had an air of ceremony about them.

And now here she was, hungover, or perhaps still a bit drunk—she couldn't really tell—stinking of liquor, in tight blue jeans and a crumpled tee shirt, about to step into what she expected to be another dignified Pentagon-type building.

She couldn't have been more wrong, but that didn't stop her from standing out like a sore thumb.

Ava had barely stumbled into the enormous entrance hall—practically swimming with witches and wizards and covered in gleaming black subway tile—before she felt a blast of heat from behind and someone roughly colliding with her shoulder. She pitched forward, off balance, and crashed into a green velvet robed man carrying a large stack of books. The leather bound tomes spilled across the floor, some of the parchment pages even tearing from their spines from the force of their splayed impact.

The man contorted his face into a look of anger and revulsion.

"_Well, I say—"_ he began in a surprisingly squeaky, high pitched voice, but Ava didn't get to hear the rest as she found herself being jostled to the side again, more witches and wizards throwing her dirty looks as they navigated around her.

"C'mon, we're in the way, _obviously_," came Dakota's voice from over her shoulder, extra twangy with salty-sounding sarcasm. She felt him grip her upper arm and saw him staring down a group of grey-haired witches as he steered her away.

They more or less dove behind another one of the fireplaces lining the wide entrance hall, and stood closely together with their shoulders rounded. It was an attempt to make themselves as small as possible, and not interfere with the chaotic flow of traffic passing by as the sea of people spun in and out of the Floo network.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ava said as a hot flash passed over her face and her stomach churned.

"Yeah, me too," Dakota agreed, mopping his clammy forehead. "Maybe we can find a cafeteria that'll serve us some drinks around here," he said, craning his neck to look around. He noticed Ava's bewildered expression and shrugged. "Hair of the dog, ya know?"

Ava couldn't think of a single thing that appealed to her less at the moment. In fact, she found herself firmly thinking she'd rather swallow a porcupine than another alcoholic beverage any time soon.

"Let's just find this Auror office and get it over with," she said with a sigh, and waited for a break in the crowd to insert herself into. She finally found a moment and walked beside what looked like a group of goblins holding jars of gems and chattering excitedly.

"Yeah, whatever 'it' is," Dakota said from behind her.

The entrance hall was suddenly flooded with light as it gave way into an atrium stacked high with numerous floors rising above them, patterned with windows. Movement around the windows caught Ava's eye, and for a moment she thought they were birds, but as she squinted and studied them further, she found them to actually be-

"Flying letters," came Dakota's voice again. "Little less scary than a great big bird of prey swoopin' in through the window, huh?"

The crowd before them finally thinned and parted as the sea of people branched off throughout the atrium, hurrying to their various destinations. Ava and Dakota found themselves shuffled along the edge of a large fountain, where gleaming statues of several magical creatures were emitting water into a sparkling pool. They glanced around uncertainly for a moment before collapsing down to sit on the low wall circling the water. Their heads hadn't gotten a chance to stop spinning, however, before a familiar voice met their ears.

"Dakota! Ava!"

Dakota jumped to his feet rather quickly, but Ava rose up slowly behind him, raising herself on her toes to see over his broad shoulder.

Hermione was hurrying towards them, expertly slinking her way through the crowd and a relieved look washing across her face.

"_Thank Merlin_ I found you two," she said breathlessly as she approached them. Ava noticed she looked a harried; her brown hair was frizzing out in all different directions and her face was flushed.

"I_ told_ them—Ron and Harry—that you two wouldn't be able to find the office on your own," she continued, looking simultaneously annoyed and smug. "Good thing I came down here, didn't I? Dakota?" she suddenly rounded on him. "Lead the way, please."

Dakota stared at her like she'd just spoken Icelandic.

"Lead the way?" he repeated. "You just said it yourself, I can't find-"

"Don't worry, I'll be navigating!" Hermione interrupted him breezily. "Start by heading left—no, your other left—and keep walking until you hit another lobby! We'll be right behind you, go ahead!"

Dakota began walking but shot Hermione a look over his shoulder that clearly said he didn't much like taking orders from her. Hermione ignored him, however, and suddenly gripped Ava's left hand with her right.

"Truthfully," she hissed, leaning close but keeping her eyes trained on Dakota ahead of them, "Ron and Harry sort of...forbade me, to do this."

"Do what, help us find the office?" Ava whispered back.

"Not exactly," Hermione replied, suddenly looking a little worried. "They didn't want you two to have any type of..." she was suddenly struggling with her words; gnawing on her bottom lip, her forehead crinkling. "Warning."

"Warning for _what,_ exactly?"

Hermione didn't answer; just kept chewing on the inside of her cheek and glancing around nervously.

Ava squeezed her hand a little harder than she meant to, squashing her fingers in a death grip.

"Sorry—what would we need a warning for, Hermione?"

It took a few more seconds, but Hermione finally seemingly gave in, exhaling deeply and rolling her eyes. "You're not going to like what they have in store for you two. It's not Ron and Harry, and it wasn't their idea, of course," she added hurriedly as she watched Ava's eyes grow wider. "But...they intended to just, you know, collect you, and bring you in, no questions asked-"

"Bring us _in_?" Ava repeated back, her voice betraying slight panic. Hermione hushed her and elbowed her in the ribs as Dakota glanced at them suspiciously over his shoulder again. "What, are we being punished for something?"

"No, no, no, it's not like that-"

"Is this why our summons specifically instructed to not bring Fred along?"

"_Yes,_ and now listen to me, because once we get in the lift there won't be any more time," Hermione replied hurriedly, nodding ahead of them towards a circular lobby where numerous elevators lined the curved walls. "I'm going in there with you two, whether they like it or not. I'm not going to let them—_do, _any more than what's appropriate, especially for you, I know you're not going to take this well-"

"Hermione, please just tell me-"

"Last lift on the right, Dakota!" Hermione called out brightly, dropping Ava's hand and hurrying a few paces ahead of her.

Ava was just considering turning on her heel and fleeing when Hermione grabbed her forearm and yanked her into the elevator with her and Dakota. The gate slid closed, and the lift was eerily still for a moment.

Hermione was crinkling her nose and curling her lip.

"Have you two been drinking?" she asked incredulously, but before either of them could answer, the elevator gave an almighty heave, and the three of them nearly fell into one another as it began speeding upwards, then jerking left, right, up again, right-

Ava's hands gripping the dangling handles above her were threatening to give as her palms swam in clamminess, and she was just thinking that this was it, yes, she was finally going to vomit, when-

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement—Auror's Office," said a perky female voice over an invisible loudspeaker.

They'd suddenly stopped moving, and it took an enormous amount of mental strength for Ava to stop herself from collapsing down on all fours.

Hermione, however, was quite collected as she strode out of the lift, straightening her blouse a bit as her heels clicked against the gleaming black floor. She paused to look over her shoulder at the two of them with her eyebrows raised.

"Well are you coming?"

Dakota and Ava exchanged knowing glances that they'd rather be doing just about anything right now, but exited the lift and followed Hermione nonetheless.

A spot of fiery red hair stuck out against the black tiled corridor, and Ron and Harry, taking notice of the three of them, straightened up from their spots leaning against the wall. Ron immediately frowned.

"Hermione," he breathed, craning his neck down in an attempt to speak as privately with her as possible, but failing spectacularly as his voice rose in agitation and his eyes kept drifting over her shoulder to Ava and Dakota, "What are you doing here? I told you-"

"I found the two of them wandering around the atrium utterly lost, it was a good thing I happened to stumble upon you, wasn't it?" she asked, spinning around to smile pointedly at them, her face flushing again.

Dakota and Ava mumbled their consent, and the door Ron and Harry had been standing beside suddenly swung open. The Minister of Magic himself stepped out, robed in lavender.

"Well, you're late," he said in greeting, but it sounded more like just an observation rather than a scolding. Then his eyes fell on Hermione. "Miss Weasley, although I doubt I made myself unclear, perhaps you've misunderstood—there are to be no more guests present-"

"Please, sir," Hermione said in a pleading voice, stepping forward quietly but bravely. "I think it would be best if Ava had some...had some female company, to support her-" she whipped her head around to stare at Ava for a moment before facing Kingsley again "-I think it's important she feels comfortable, you know, relaxed, and I thought she'd appreciate the presence-"

"Female company?" Kingsley repeated back, his eyebrows raised. "We won't be discussing hair products, Miss Weasley, your gender has nothing-"

"Please, sir." She had whispered it, and Ava suddenly noticed her hands balled into fists at her sides, and the waves of desperation that were practically radiating off of her.

Kingsley exhaled deeply. "Very well. Everyone in." He disappeared behind the door again, Ron and Harry following closely behind. Hermione looked behind her again to give Dakota and Ava what she must have thought was an encouraging smile, but ended up looking more like a grimace.

Ava began to follow her, but Dakota gripped her forearm, stopping her in place.

"Listen," he said, licking his lips, "I don't trust what's goin' on here. _She-_" he said pointedly, jutting his chin out towards the doorway Hermione had just disappeared through, "looks nervous as a cat in a room full'a rockin' chairs. Anything rubs us the wrong way, we split, got it?"

"Got it," Ava agreed, actually feeling immensely grateful Dakota was there with her.

And so she headed through the doorway, startled by how suddenly dark inside the room was. It was as though she'd been swallowed by blackness; her vision became slightly fuzzy as it adjusted to the dip in visibility, and her steps slowed. On the other side of the room was a single dim lamp hanging from the ceiling emitting a blueish, silvery glow, and a broad, plush looking loveseat on the ground under it. Ron, Harry, and Hermione stood on the border of where the eerie lamp's light reached into the darkness, just barely illuminating their figures, and Ava couldn't help but notice how not even the tips of their shoes dared to step into the light, as though it was dangerous, and terrible things could happen if they dared to stand under it.

Ava froze in her steps, as did Dakota beside her.

"Alright, doesn't take a genius to figure out somethin' ain't right here," Dakota announced loudly, taking her hand. "We're goin, come on, Ava-"

"Wait."

_Wait._

It was the oddest thing—she swore she'd only thought the word, but then her lips were moving, and her vocal cords were pushing, and it came from her mouth in a voice that didn't even sound like her own. Her feet remained firmly planted on the ground, and she fought against his insistent yanking on her arm.

The light...it was beautiful, and growing even more beautiful by the second as Ava stared at it...she had been such a fool, the light wasn't bad or dangerous, it was wonderful, and she wanted nothing more than to stand directly under it, because if just staring at it from afar made her feel like this, imagine what it felt like to be close to it-

"Ava!"

Dakota's voice was rough, and hit her ears like a slap across the face. She jumped, like someone had come out from hiding and yelled_ 'Boo!',_ and noticed how much closer she was to the lamp and the loveseat beneath it. She'd walked straight towards it, without even realizing.

She tore her eyes away from the scene to look over her shoulder at Dakota, who had his one good eye squeezed shut tightly, his entire face crinkled with concentration.

"Don't—don't go near that thing!" he panted, as though speaking was taking considerable effort.

"Yes," came a cold voice from somewhere in the darkness, a voice that pronounced each letter slowly and carefully. "The boy knows all about this. The girl does too, although she doesn't know it yet." The voice chuckled. "Like moths to a flame. _Bring the both of them to me!_"

"Farouk," came another, more gentle voice. Kingsley's. "You are here as my guest."

Ava distinctly knew, for a fleeting moment, that all she wanted to do was run out of the room and never return. But then, that thought turned into a distant memory, like she had thought it ages ago, and now her mind was changed, and now she was looking at the blue glow of the lamp again, and now Dakota was falling into step beside her-

Her body weight was lifted from her feet, and her head lolled to the side, where soft fabric tickled her cheek. The sensation wasn't much different than being immensely tired, and fighting the urge to fall asleep. She was so relaxed...so relaxed...she didn't have a care in the world...in fact, she cared about nothing at all...

Then suddenly, she did care, she cared about one thing-

_Look up and let the Minister address you._

But the couch was so comfortable, but she knew, she knew she needed to look up, it was the only thing that mattered-

_Look up and let the Minister address you._

Her neck straightened, and she peeled her eyelids apart. Kingsley's face swam into view, bathed in the blueish silver glow of the lamp overhead.

"Ava," he said, and she thought he said it loudly, but she was having a hard time telling. "Dakota. Look at me."

She obeyed, and suddenly felt considerably more alert. Her vision seemed to fix itself, and her self awareness returned: she was sitting on the plush loveseat beside Dakota, and before her stood Kingsley, his face kind, and another man she didn't recognize. He was tall, with a head of thick black hair and beard to match; his skin a warm shade of gold. He may have been handsome if his dark eyes didn't make Ava think of black holes; they were large and somehow managed to look completely empty yet made of endless depth at the same time.

"Do not be frightened," he continued. "This is Farouk. He is the Head of Legilimency and Occlumency for the Auror Department. We have been trying to find the location of the original Merryweather headquarters. You both are here to help us today." Kingsley spoke intentionally slowly and clearly; like teaching a child why they shouldn't be touching a hot stove. Farouk stared down at her hungrily.

Although Ava's mind still felt immensely cloudy, like everything was happening in molasses; sluggish and melting together; and she was struggling to process it all properly, she managed the grueling task of opening her mouth to speak.

"Why are you...why...why..." she trailed off; her eyes were rolling in the back of her head again and her tongue seemingly gave up, exhausted. It felt like she had been trying to speak with a mouth full of peanut butter. She thought she heard Hermione let out a tiny whimper and whisper something to Ron from behind her.

Even with Ava's unfinished sentence, Kingsley seemed to understand. "Ah. You're wondering why we're taking this route," he said gently, his eyes traveling up at the lamp and back down at Ava and Dakota slumped on the cushy loveseat. "You most likely would not have been...receptive, if you knew what we intended to do."

Beside her, Dakota let out a pathetic sort of gurgling sound. Ava forced her eyes to drift over to him; he was seemingly having a lot more trouble staying awake and alert than her—which wasn't saying much.

But something—_something,_ was nagging at her, somewhere far back in the depths of her extremely muddled mind. It was like someone invisible tapping her on the shoulder, or the sound of untied shoelaces slapping along the ground as she walked, yes, that was it, she had forgotten something and was being reminded of it—but what was it?

And then Hermione's face and nervous voice from earlier swam back to her: _"I'm not going to let them—do, any more than what's appropriate, especially for you, I know you're not going to take this well-"_

Dakota bristling and freezing at the sight of the room, as though he knew what was about to happen...

Farouk's voice, realizing it..._"The boy knows all about this. The girl does too, although she doesn't know it yet." _The laugh._ "Like moths to a flame."_

And what Kingsley had just said..._"You most likely would not have been...receptive, if you knew what we intended to do."_

And the silvery blue light of the lamp overhead, how wonderful it was, how relaxed it made her feel, how _familiar_ it felt-

That was it. This whole situation felt familiar because it WAS familiar—sitting somewhere dark, illuminated only with this odd colored lamp, feeling like the life was being sucked out of her and then being dumped back in the Cube, laying motionless upon the cold tile floor for what felt like days until her mind recovered-

"Merry...weather..." she forced out, the effort it took to move her mouth and speak excruciating. "Merry...weather."

Farouk bent at the waist and leaned in closely; she could feel his breath on her face as his dark eyes darted across her forehead and then down to her eyes; they suddenly rolled forward as though standing at attention and locked with his. His very gaze penetrated her; and she felt it, all of it, all over again—the dripping sounds in the cavernous underground headquarters, the laughs of the soldiers as they watched, the agents that would stand before her, bent at the waist just like Farouk, looking into her eyes and searching her mind—

"You were correct, Minister," he said after what felt like hours, but was actually only seconds. He straightened up and turned to Kingsley. "This is what the compound would do to her."

"I thought so," Kingsley murmured, looking down at the two of them again. "As soon as she first told us that they'd sit her down and search her mind, invade her memories, I knew they were performing Legilimency...she'd called it mind-ripping...but why, Farouk, why...what were they searching for, in her and all the others..."

"I cannot answer that for them, Minister."

"Of course," he said softly, then lowered his face to be level with Ava's again. "Ava...we need you to think...put your mind back in that place, the night you escaped...what did you see?"

Ava's mind was a raging battle; part of her was screaming, absolutely screaming, silently begging and pleading for them not to invade her mind again, another part was hazy, hazy as the light from the lamp above them, and another part was obeying; _yes, I can do that..._

_The smell of dirt in her nose. The sound of bats fluttering from above._

"Tunnel," she forced out, running her tongue over her bottom lip, and it felt like sandpaper. "The tunnel...under...ground..."

"More," said Kingsley.

_The thickness in the air; it was freezing but the very atmosphere felt soupy, foggy, if it hadn't been so cold it would have been humid...the ice cold water seeping into her shoes...the throbbing pain in the side of her leg where the bullet had grazed her...her vision tilting, swimming..._

"Where were you?" Kingsley pressed, and his voice had a tone of pleading to it. "What did you see?"

She'd remembered it was Christmas...ran harder...remembered Fox's screaming and Callaghan's lifeless looking body...cold water, fog...swampy...running, running, running...had she looked back? Had she?

"I don't...I can't..." Ava choked out. Her memory from the night wasn't quite blacked out, no, but it was brown, she could remember things after she escaped but only bits and pieces...the adrenaline...the blood loss from her leg...the cold...the exhaustion...

"What's the first thing you remember seeing?" Kingsley pleaded.

She'd continued running and hadn't slept until the next night, in an abandoned cottage, but what had happened before that, what had she seen when she ran out of the tunnel? God, why couldn't she remember?

Kingsley sighed and took a step back, nodding.

"Farouk," he said. "Go ahead."

"No," Ava whimpered, "Please."

Farouk bent at face-level with her again, and right at that moment, a frantic banging echoed from across the room.

He paused, and looked over his shoulder at Kingsley.

"Ava!" a muffled voice was shouting. "Ava, Dakota, are you in there?"

The weightlessness and carelessness that had seemingly been flooding through Ava's very veins suddenly froze. She'd started off caring about nothing, nothing at all, but the feeling had thinned as Farouk had begun to delve into her mind, and now it was practically gone as she heard his voice—

Fred.

"Potter, did you lock the door?" came Kingsley's voice from somewhere in the darkness.

"Yes, with the counter-spell for the Unlocking Charm on it-"

"Good," Kingsley interrupted, and nodded deeply to Farouk. "Continue."

"Ava! Dakota! Can you hear me?"

Dakota started rapidly muttering from beside her, his head lolling from side to side as he did so.

And then Farouk's nearly black eyes were before her again, and she was back in the tunnel, and then in the water, breathing in the thick air-

"Ava! Ava!"

She wanted to stand and go to him, but it was as though Farouk's very gaze was pinning her to the couch-

"OPEN-" _bang_ "THIS-" _bang_ "BLOODY-" _bang_ "DOOR!"

Something was yanked from her memory—painfully—Ava gritted her teeth and cried out as Farouk narrowed his eyes, delving deeper-

Her foot had been caught around something under the freezing water, maybe a root—she'd careened forward, already off balance from limping on her injured leg—the water splashed along her front, her fingers sinking into the mud as she struggled to get back on her feet—and yes, she'd done it. She'd cast a terrified glance over her shoulder to see if anyone had been following her.

"It's...orange, Minister," came Farouk's voice, floating from somewhere distant, Dakota still muttering what sounded like nonsense in the background. "What she ran out of, behind her...I can't see it clearly, her vision was swimming with panic and delirium, it's blurred...but it's orange, glowing. And jagged. An orange mountain."

"An orange mountain?" Kingsley repeated back, his voice doubtful.

CRASH.

The pitch-black room was suddenly flooded with light, and the sound of wood splintering and bouncing along the ground after what sounded like a small explosion filled the air. The silvery blue light died away, and with almost identical moans, Ava and Dakota slid down and off the loveseat, hitting the floor with their knees and flopping down face-first.

She didn't have the strength yet to look up, but Ava fought hard to stay conscious, the hard floor cold against her cheek and forehead, blinking hard as the sudden brightness stung her eyes.

Fred's voice was screaming something, but the words were coming in like a badly tuned radio.

"_What have you...Ron...Harry...why...YOU..."_

There was suddenly a large hand forcing its grip in her armpit, and she was being dragged to her feet. She felt like a ragdoll, or a strand of plain cooked spaghetti; limp and flopping.

"Ava, please, just stand, I can't hold you both," panted a voice, heaving her up again.

Her head lolled to the side and she finally opened her eyes fully, and saw the side of a head missing an ear.

"George," she choked out.

He heaved her up again from under her arm, and the ground finally started to feel solid again as she stumbled and stood. The room swam into clear view, and it was a mess: bits of wood from the shattered door littered the floor everywhere, and drops of scarlet blood were sprinkled about. Then hear ears finally adjusted again, and Fred's voice returned.

"Just what the _fuck_ were you doing to them, eh?" he roared. He was standing only a few feet away, and he was lunging—Ava suddenly realized Ron and Harry were on either side of him, desperately holding on to his arms, and he was lunging straight at Kingsley and Farouk. His face was contorted into a snarl as he screamed, his bright hair spilled wildly over his forehead, and both him and George were wearing their blue and yellow shop uniforms. Ava's eyes lazily drifted over the trail of blood freckled across the floor, following it until she found its source—Fred's leg. The bottom of his left pant leg was shredded, with dark blood blossoming over the cobalt blue. She put two and two together—he'd kicked straight through the door.

"Fred," she whimpered, but George was steering her out of the room, staggering as Dakota barely stood on his own at his other side.

Once they were out in the hallway, George finally allowed them to collapse; they fell on to their hands and knees side by side as he dashed back inside the room. Ava weakly lifted her head to see what was going on in there: Ron and Harry were still desperately holding Fred back like an attack dog on a leash as he fought tooth and nail to get to Kingsley, his jaws snapping. George was standing beside his twin, gesturing wildly, apparently attempting to reason with him.

"Miss Weasley!" Kingsley suddenly commanded in a booming voice. "I am afraid you will have to place your brother in-law under arrest!"

Now George was rounding on him.

"Under—under _arrest_?! We were trying to get in here to save them, rightfully so, Minister, come on now, look at them-" he waved his arms to their weak, crumpled figures out in the hall.

"Miss Weasley, _your job_, please, and come back and collect George as well if he does not calm himself _this instant_!"

George had opened his mouth to argue some more, but Fred was suddenly calmer: his face still flushed beet-red, his body rigid and jaw tight and still panting, but he was no longer lunging at Kingsley.

"Go out there and take care of them!" he half-yelled in a strangled sort of voice at George, swinging his head around to gesture at Ava and Dakota, his arms still pinned behind him by Harry and Ron.

"But-"

"It's okay, George," Fred panted, relaxing further. Hermione approached him slowly, tears streaming down her face, her wand gripped in her shaking hand. "It's okay," he repeated, nodding at her. She let out a small sob and circled around him to stand at his back, gently tapping each of his wrists with her wand.

"By order of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she sobbed, white light erupting from her wand and wrapping itself around Fred's hands behind his back, fitted like handcuffs, "I p-place you under arrest, f-for destruction of Ministry property, attempts of vi-violence directed towards the Minister of M-Magic, and unauthorized dis-" she hiccuped "-disturbance of a confidential m-meeting."

Ava's hands couldn't support her on all fours anymore; she collapsed further down on her elbows and leaned her forehead against the cold tile. Two pairs of footsteps approached, and out of the blurry corner of her eye, she saw Fred's bloody foot and tattered pant leg passing in front of Hermione's shiny heeled shoes as she lead him away.

"Unnecessary," Kingsley's voice was saying from inside the room. "Completely unnecessary...boy's got to learn his place..."

George's hand was under her armpit again, lugging her to her feet, Dakota retched and vomited all over the floor, and everything went black as Ava finally lost consciousness.

* * *

Fred had been released from custody that same night; his charges, dropped, and Hermione had gotten assurance via an owl from George that both Ava and Dakota were recovering just fine—slowly, but fine—but it had been three days.

Three whole days that Ron thought it was best to give his wife some distance, but on the fourth day, he caved.

"'Mione," he said with a sigh as she'd strode into the bedroom to retrieve something, and then headed back out without a word.

But when he called her, her steps slowed, and she hovered in the doorway, her right hand coming up to rest on the frame.

"What is it?" she asked softly, looking over her shoulder at him. Her voice wasn't angry or rude, she just sounded...spent. As though she was exhausted.

"Come back in here. Come on, we need to talk."

She remained frozen in the doorway, her fingers twitching impatiently on the woodgrain.

"Ron...let's not do this...Rose is sleeping, we shouldn't argue-"

"No one's arguing," he interrupted her gently, and patted the mattress beside him. "Come on. Sit. We can't not talk for three days, you're driving me mad."

Hermione exhaled deeply in resolve before stepping backwards, back into the bedroom, and shutting the door with a gentle click. Ron offered her a half smile as she lowered herself to sit beside him, and he was quiet, waiting for her to speak first.

"I'm not angry with you," she said softly, avoiding his eyes and picking at a loose strand of yarn laid over the duvet.

"I thought as much," Ron replied, placing his hand over hers, making it go still. "If you were, you certainly wouldn't've been so quiet."

As much as she fought against it, a grin spread across her face, almost to the extent of a laugh, and she raised her eyes to meet his. He grinned back and squeezed her hand.

"You haven't been right since the inquiry."

Hermione remained silent, avoiding Ron's eyes again.

"I know you don't like what we did."

"No, I didn't," she suddenly said, finding her voice. She faced him again. "I don't."

"Hermione," he said, his voice gentle again, "I know it looked really scary, and really wrong, but you know about that room. I've told you about that room. It's just where Aurors take people to be interrogated-"

"_Criminals,_ Ron," Hermione interjected, her chin rising slightly. "It's where you interrogate criminals. Ava and Dakota have nothing to hide, you know that-"

"I know."

"And it looked wrong—because it was!" Everything she'd been seething about for the past few days suddenly came pouring out. "That light is—it's _awful_, and that man is even worse-"

"Hermione, listen to me, please," Ron pleaded, his voice still soft but growing firm to catch her attention. "Hear me out, okay?"

Hermione's eyes were shining with frustrated, angry tears, but she bit her upper lip and gave him a single nod.

"Do you realize how long it's been since Fred and George found Ava?" he asked. "Four months. And in the past four months, love, I'd like to say we've accomplished a lot but we haven't. We just haven't. We've been running around playing cat and mouse and getting people hurt and Portkey-ing all over the bloody globe..." he trailed off and took a deep breath. "It would have been the right thing to do to get everyone together for another meeting, and ask Ava and Dakota more questions, and if they couldn't remember certain things, _yes,_ we should have asked for permission to do what we did, okay? I'm not arguing it. But this was Kingsley's call, Hermione."

"We violated her," she whispered harshly, staring down at the wooden planks in the floor. "What we did to her, and what we were going to do to Dakota...we're no better than Merryweather."

"That's not true."

"Well it feels true!" Hermione said angrily, whipping her head up. "Seeing them..._slump_ down like that, look lifeless...the charm Kingsley and Farouk put on themselves to counter the charm and let them stand under that light, but watch Ava and Dakota flop around under it..." She wiped her eyes angrily. "It was _wrong_, Ron. They took advantage of them because they weren't magical. That's what it boils down to. It felt like...it felt like-"

"It felt like we were tormenting Muggles," Ron finished for her.

She was silent for a moment, and then sniffed. "Yes."

"Hermione," he sighed, rubbing his hands on his hair. "The first couple times I saw interrogations in that room it...messed me up, that's for sure." He shook his head bitterly at the memory. "But that light...it looks worse than it is! It's just meant to, I don't know, relax you, loosen your lips and clear your mind, make it as easy as it can be for a Legilimency interrogation...it's a kindness, you know, better than doing it to them while they try to fight it!"

"Have you ever done it?" Hermione asked coldly. "Sat under the light. Let Farouk delve into your mind like that? Have you?"

Ron hesitated, but he couldn't lie. "No," he admitted.

"You know Ava slept until yesterday?" she pressed further. "Fred wrote me and told me to stop worrying, finally. Two and a half days sleeping to recover from that. Does that sound harmless to you?"

"Ava—Ava did it to Dakota!" Ron suddenly said. "When we first met him, and we didn't know if we could trust him...she did it to him too, looked inside his memories!"

"We didn't know whether he was trying to help us, or kill us, Ron!" Hermione said hotly. "And he didn't have to sit under that lamp and get his brain magically wiped clean-"

"I know, Hermione," Ron said with a deep exhale, placing his hand over hers again. "I know."

Several moments of near-silence passed between them, filled only by the noises of Rose cooing in her sleep.

"I didn't like having to arrest your brother," she finally said. "That was really horrible." She released a deep breath, just as he had moments earlier, and let her eyes drift over his shoulder, towards the side table next to the bed, watching the sun set through the window behind it.

Ron actually chuckled. "I don't know what to tell you about that one, Hermione, he kicked down a door and tried to attack Kingsley—really, he's lucky Kingsley pardoned him, to be honest-"

"Ron," Hermione suddenly said sharply. Her voice was hard, and she sprang to her feet.

"Alright, alright, I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry, but you know Fred, he's a hard headed prat sometimes-"

"Ron!" she exclaimed again, and rushed by him, heading to the bedside table she'd been absentmindedly been staring at.

"Alright, I guess I shouldn't have said that either, but you have to admit that it's ironic, what with all the rule breaking and such he's been doing all his life, and his first time actually being arrested was by _you_-"

"Shut up for a second!" she squealed, and Ron crinkled his forehead in confusion at the obvious excited glee in her voice. She fumbled for just a second to pick something up off of the table, and spun around to show him.

"_Look,"_ she practically cooed.

Ron stared, unsure of what his reaction was supposed to be. In her hands, she was clutching a framed photo of herself, Ron, and Harry, taken by Colin Creevey after a Quidditch match. Harry and Ron were wearing their mud splattered uniforms and grinning, their brooms over their shoulders, and Hermione was between them, grinning but slightly annoyed at being squashed between them. Her photographed self kept nudging each of them in the ribs, and they laughed back, teasing her.

"Hermione, we've had that picture for years," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed good naturedly before tapping her right index finger on the photograph again. "Look at the background, Ron. What do you see? Oh _honestly, you're_ supposed to be the Auror..."

Still utterly clueless but humoring her, he stared at the photo again, not seeing anything in particular she was referring to, when suddenly—well, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Hermione!" he almost shouted, jumping to his feet as well. "You're a genius!"

"_Orange mountain,"_ she whispered under her breath excitedly, staring down at the photo fondly. "Ava, her vision was blurred, she was frantic...'jagged orange mountain'...what do you think, Ron?"

Ron joined her in staring down at the photo again, his heart pounding quickly now. Behind the three of them, in the background, was Hogwarts, majestic and dark and enormous, its various turrets and towers spiking up, illuminated by an orange glow of the hundreds of flaming torches mounted upon the stone.

"She ran out from somewhere underground," Hermione whispered.

"Somewhere within 113 kilometers of Inverness," Ron tacked on.

Hermione stared at the picture for a moment longer before looking up at him grinning, her eyes shining.

"She ran out from under a castle. A castle within 113 kilometers of Inverness." She suddenly did an excited little jig in place. "Do you know what this means, Ron?!"

"Course I do, I'm not _that _thick. It means we can find the old Merryweather compound. Come on, let's write the owl. It's about time we had some good news."


	33. Chapter 33--Hollow

**Author's Notes: I'd like to say this longer than usual absence was because of something epic, like I was captured by Merryweather, but truth be told it's been hard to find the time to just sit down and write. Between Christmas and then going to Quebec for New Years and coming home ENGAGED (yay! yay! but OMG THERE'S SO MUCH TO DO) I haven't been focused, and it took me much longer than I would have liked to produce this chapter. I'm a little out of practice I suppose, so constructive critique and any and all of your thoughts are absolutely welcome in a review. Thank you all so, SO MUCH for your patience, and I hope you like this chapter. I'm excited to get this story going again, full steam ahead! Onward, comrades!**

Chapter 33—Hollow

There was nothing special, or particular, about the time. It was a bit past three in the afternoon.

But suddenly, as though some sort of alarm had gone off inside of the silent and still apartment—two eyes flew open, two hands gripped the mattress in a panic, and two lungs gasped for air as though they hadn't truly tasted oxygen for days.

Two syllables made a familiar sound.

"Ay-vah."

It took a moment, but then it sunk in—Ava, yes, that was her name. She knew her name, if nothing else.

"Ava."

Her eyes were open but having trouble actually seeing; blinding sunshine was filtering in through a window and she brimmed with tears, her eyes burning as they struggled to adjust.

Ava. She knew her name, but what else did she know? Whose warm hand was resting upon her arm?

Her mother's. It had to be. She was being silly; this happened often—she'd stay home from school sick, and wake up in a panic later afraid she was missing something important. Maybe she could do something calming, get herself up and out of bed even though she was sick and take a walk across the property or something. Sit in the woods for awhile.

She squeezed her eyes shut. No, her mother was dead. Try again.

If her brain was a muscle, it would be whining with ache in protest by now. She was panting as though she'd sprinted a mile and the sunlight was making the inside of her eyelids glow a fiery orange; but even then, she was struggling to feel completely awake.

The Cube. She was in the Cube, back at Merryweather. They'd done things to her mind and dumped her back in the Cube; this wasn't the first time. The blanket on top of her had probably been tossed on by Sarah, she was always doing kind things like that, looking out for her, she'd have to thank her later-

No, there was no sunlight in the Cube, nor was there a mattress for her to sink her fingernails into. Try again.

But she was tired of trying. It would be so much easier to go back to sleep-

"Ava."

She opened her eyes—and finally—they worked.

They saw a man, seated on the edge of the bed and leaning over her. He was youthful, but there was something in his eyes that made him look like he'd seen—or maybe felt—things that gave him age. And those eyes, they reminded her of maple syrup, brown with a shimmer of nearly gold as the light hit them. Messy ginger hair the color of the inside of a persimmon was falling over his freckled forehead. His jaw was square and handsome, and his neck was long, leading to a pale, bare chest, criss-crossed with faded white scars.

"You're awake," he remarked with a single breath of relieved sounding laughter.

She opened her mouth—she was about to ask him who he was—but then closed it abruptly. That feeling again...someone tapping her on the shoulder, a forgotten untied shoelace...she was forgetting something. But she could do this. She could remember.

The man's face grew slightly worried as he continued to watch her, and the weight of his large hand on her arm suddenly felt heavier. And something invisible, something unnameable, was traveling from his hand and sinking in through her skin. It was warm and true and felt like going down the stairs to see the tree on Christmas morning, or the silly sense of pride and excitement when pulling a perfect tray of cookies out of the oven. The taste of a snowflake on your tongue...the sound of wind chimes echoing across a valley on a perfect day. All of that, all of it at once, swirled together and lathered across his fingertips. It was practically radiating off of him, leaking out of his very pores.

She'd felt it once before. She was watching something...barley swishing in the breeze and powder-blue roses...the wedding. It had diffused off of the couple and made a tear roll down her face from the sheer strength of it.

Love. It was love. He loved her.

"I hate this," she choked out, tears pricking the edges of her eyes again. "I don't...I don't know anything."

"Just try," he whispered back. He reached forward and brushed the tears out of her eyes with his thumbs.

"I can't."

"Try," he repeated, and his voice was pleading. He bent at the waist and covered her chest with his, and buried his face in the nook between her head and shoulder. He breathed, and the confined space of his mouth, and the warmth of their skin to skin contact, nearly made condensation on her neck. And that was it.

Ava remembered. She remembered everything. His skin on her skin, his hot breath on her neck, the salty smell of the Caribbean sea in the air, her legs wrapped around his hips, the taste of his lips on hers, and everything, everything before and after that-

"Ava."

"Fred."

He sat back up, but just slightly, propping himself on his elbow and resting his chin on her chest, just below her collarbone.

"You know me," he whispered to her.

He was always there, wasn't he? The first person she saw, he was always the first—rescuing her in the alleyway, visiting her hospital room, sitting on various edges of various beds after she woke up, convinced she was broken, and reminding her he was there to put her back together. _'Because I love you.' _Fred.

"I know you," she whispered back, and suddenly, her mind wasn't aching as much.

* * *

When September 1st came and went, it was finally deemed safe, and eight people stood shivering in water reaching up to varying places on their legs. For instance—for Fred and George, it came barely to their knees, but for Harry, the water's brim teetered on the edge of his thigh-high galoshes.

To be more precise, eight people stood in a marsh behind one of Scotland's most popular tourist destinations, wearing tall fishing boots, and seven of them were clutching wands. It was a sight to see, which is why they'd been forced to at least wait until the school year had started. It was an attempt to avoid the crowds of families visiting on summer holiday, but regardless, the area surrounding Eilean Donan Castle wasn't exactly deserted. There was a mildly busy freeway across from them with a village rising behind it. There was a parking lot for visitors to the castle, and even though they'd chosen early morning hours to arrive, there were several cars present—belonging to employees, no doubt.

It made Ava wonder how Merryweather had possibly gotten away with having an entire compound operating beneath it.

In the early days of her and the others' capture, they'd taken to screaming. A lot. They knew their Cube was made of soundproof glass, but anytime any of them had been removed and dragged down the hallway, they'd howled and shrieked and pleaded for someone, _anyone_, to hear and help them. Something Gridgeon had said to her once after she'd screamed herself hoarse was tugging at the back of her mind.

"_Wail all you want!" _he'd jeered gleefully as he'd lugged her from the Cube on her first day. _"You're just another ghost!"_

A strong breeze, sending wrinkles across the water's surface and making everyone shiver more violently, whipped Ava's hair around her face and jolted her back into the present.

"Is this castle haunted?" she suddenly asked aloud to no one in particular.

One by one, everyone turned to look at her. She was standing on the far right end of their line-up, and each of them—Fred, George, Harry, Ginny, Dakota, Charlie, and Bill—turned their heads almost simultaneously to stare. No one had probably expected her to speak first.

"It's not," Charlie responded in a half-shout over the now-howling of the wind. "It's funny, you know, with Muggles—most of them," he corrected himself quickly, giving Ava and Dakota a sheepish once-over, "the places that are actually haunted, they never even realize, but they make wild ghost stories about ones that aren't."

"Is this one of them?" she asked loudly, tucking her wildly blowing hair behind her ears.

"One of what?"

"The places that aren't haunted, but people say they are?"

"Well, yeah" Charlie replied, vaguely gesturing towards the ancient looking castle. "Talks of hauntings...apparitions, cold spots, you know, that sort of thing...but not a single ghost on the Spectre Registration list from here."

As they all continued to stand slightly awkwardly in the water, the sounds of various insects and pond life buzzing around them, Ava couldn't help but think about Fox—how different she was, how much she'd changed...but she herself had changed too, hadn't she? She wasn't the same person she'd been before Merryweather. It was as though she'd sprinted out eight months ago and left part of her behind.

So Charlie was wrong. Some ghosts _had_ slipped through the cracks.

"Kind of brilliant, you know," she found herself saying as she thought aloud. "Hiding a bunch of screaming prisoners under somewhere rumored to be haunted. The noises...no one would ever take them seriously, right?"Ava continued staring at the perched castle, bathed in hazy sunlight from the early morning. A ray of sun reflected against one of the windows and glittered back at her innocently.

She exhaled a deep breath. "Let's go," she said loudly to the group, and extracted her rubber boot-clad foot from the muck it had sunk into under the water, fighting the wind and dragging current of the water to get closer to the back end of the castle.

The group quickly followed, and Fred caught up to her side with only one long stride.

"Brave, aren't you?" he murmured to her quietly.

She turned to look at him, and couldn't quite figure out the expression on his face. It was like he was somewhere between teasing and actual confusion.

She tore her eyes away from his and bowed her head against the wind, fighting to walk on as the water sloshed around her knees. "Well," she began, her voice more surly than she originally intended it to be, "it's either that or fall to pieces, which we both know I'm pretty good at by now." She internally flinched at the increasingly biting tone her voice had taken on. "Can't have you carry me over your shoulder out of somewhere screaming, yet again."

"Course I can," he responded, nudging her in the ribs with a hopeful smile. "You're pretty skinny, and I'm pretty strong."

When she didn't answer him, he glanced over his shoulder at Dakota, who had nothing for him in response besides a shrug of his shoulders.

"Let's climb up on there!" George called out, pointing to the ridge of rock and dirt rising out of the water ahead of them that the castle sat upon. "We'll walk around the edge and find the tunnel entrance."

They continued sloshing through the marsh, the mountains behind them shrinking and the castle before them growing closer, until eventually, the water level began dropping and it only splashed around their ankles as they walked. One by one, they made the slippery lunge from the water to the mud of the small island until they were finally on dry land, shaking the excess water off of their legs and squinting in the sunlight as they looked around.

"Hey," Fred said in a low voice, catching Ava's hand. "You didn't have to come. I told you that a hundred times. And you don't have to do this. I can Disapparate us home right now, and let them do the dirty work-"

"Stop it, Fred," she whispered back, tugging her hand out of his and pushing her hair behind her ears again. She stared at the enormous mound of dirt rising behind him that the castle was perched upon. "If I'm ever going to stop being a useless weakling, you're going to have to stop babying me."

Fred's face was hard as he stared at her. "You are _not _a useless-"

"Besides," she interjected, holding her arms out, "I'm already home!"

Now his jaw actually dropped.

"I'm right where I belong," she growled under her breath before he could answer, clenched her hands into fists and kicked a ball of dried pond weed aside as she stomped around him.

She fell in line behind the others, who were all walking along the edge of the castle's dirt foundation, tapping their wands along it as they went. She swept past George quickly, who was watching her with the same bewildered expression Fred had worn, and heard the two of them quietly talking behind her as she stalked away.

Something was making her very angry all of a sudden. Anyone with half a brain would know this wouldn't have been a pleasant trip for her no matter the circumstance, but it was more than that; Ava felt like there was a bomb slowly being built inside of her gut. Truthfully, she wasn't proud of being such a radioactive bitch, but it at least admittedly felt better than dissolving into a blubbering, frail, weeping mess—

"I think I've got something here!" Ginny called out from around the bend.

Grateful to have been pulled out of her own thoughts, Ava jogged forward and was the first to meet Ginny's side. She was standing beside a brightly discolored patch of grass growing sideways along the ridge, but her eyes were on Ava, an incredulous look upon her face as she looked her up and down.

"What?" Ava asked irritably, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at the ridge.

"Oh, nothing," Ginny replied airily, tossing her dark red hair over her shoulder and crossing her ankles, her hands on her hips. "You just look like you're about to grind someone up and eat them on a tortilla crisp, is all."

"Now that's just fucked up," came Dakota's voice as he rounded the corner and stopped to stand beside them, his remaining eyebrow sky-high. He looked at Ginny appraisingly as though seeing her for the first time. "I like you!"

"Alright, what've we got?" Harry asked as he appeared behind Dakota. Bill and Charlie followed, and last came the twins, still murmuring amongst themselves.

"Dunno, what do you call this?" Ginny asked, patting the rounded wall of bright grass heartily like it was a proud bit of livestock. "If this isn't an obvious cover for something, I don't know what is."

Ginny had a point: the budding grass creeping up the sides of the ridge towards the castle's foundation was, otherwise, brownish and half-hearted, no doubt a result from frequent flooding of the marsh and limited sunlight. But the patch her palm rested upon was thick with moss and fresh sprouting plant life, so green it was almost neon, and the dirt was packed on thicker and lumpier than the rest of the ridge.

"So we blast it?" George spoke up, breaking away from Fred and coming forward carefully upon the mud. He pulled out his wand again.

"Hey, not so fast," Ginny said, jumping away from the wall. "What if it's cursed?"

"Well that's what I'm here for, isn't it?" said Bill, grinning and gently pushing his way to the front of the group. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out what looked like a pair of glasses, but the circular lenses were made of red glass. He slipped them on to his face and leaned forward closely, studying the section of ridge, his nose nearly tickling the ends of the vegetation.

"Nothing here on the outside," he said matter-of-factly, neatly tucking the glasses back into his pocket and whipping out his wand. "Stand back."

Everyone backed up a few paces and shuffled to the side, the low tide of the marsh sloshing against the island's edge at their feet.

Bill moved a bit to the side as well, and aimed his wand at the nearly vertical grassy hill.

"_Reducto!"_ he cried, brandishing his wand.

Dakota snorted as a couple of pebbles that had been embedded in the dirt fell to the ground.

"Right," Bill said hurriedly, pushing his sleeves up, "they've charmed it on there tight. All of us, then?"

Dakota came to stand beside Ava as the other five gathered next to Bill. "Let 'em do their hocus-pocus," he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. "How are you?"

"Peachy," Ava replied in a flat tone, and just then, a small bang erupted from the ridge, making the ground beneath their feet tremble for a second, and the air was thick with brown dust. Mostly everyone began coughing.

"Everyone alright?" Bill asked, sending the dust floating away with a delicate stream of air emitting from his wand.

Ginny flipped her head upside-down, shaking out her hair vigorously. "Perfect," she said, standing back up and tossing her hair back over her shoulder. "I've always wanted to know what it was like to take a dirt bath."

"'Dirthbath', eh? That's a good new nickname for you, Gin," George said, grinning and dancing out of the way as she aimed a kick at his shins.

The dust had cleared around the ridge by now for everyone to see: the section of dirt they'd blasted away indeed revealed an imperfectly circular tunnel entrance.

"That's it, isn't it?" Charlie's voice floated out from somewhere. Ava had been staring at a flock of birds making their way across the clear sky; Dakota nudged her and she jumped. Everyone was staring at her.

"Yes," she said in a steely voice. Her fingernails ground into her palms as her fists clenched harder.

Fred muttered something to George, and stepped around him, making his way over to her as Bill stood by the entrance to the tunnel wearing the red spectacles again and brandishing his wand.

"Can I ask you how I can help without you biting my head off?" he muttered, leaning down so his mouth was close to her ear. "I'm not going to ask you what's wrong, see, because I'm not a complete imbecile, even though you're treating me like one."

Fred might as well have stabbed her; the piercing sensation of guilt shot straight through her chest, and from over Fred's bent shoulder, she saw Dakota making a face as though he'd been shanked as well.

"Oh, boy," he said, and clapped Fred on the shoulder. "That's just brutal. And also my cue to go...over there." He more or less scurried away, his boots squelching in the mud as he went.

Ava released her bottom lip from between her teeth. "Fred-"

"I'm not upset with you," he interjected, his voice still low and husky in her ear. "And if being angry here makes you feel strong, I'm all for it, but I'm not your bloody punching bag." He straightened back up and stared down at her, his mouth in a forlorn-looking half smile and eyebrows raised slightly.

She exhaled deeply. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," he said gently, tucking her hair behind her ear for her as it began to wildly blow in the wind again. "You're just trying not to disintegrate on the spot. And I didn't tell you to stop because you're hurting my feelings. I can take care of myself. I said it to you because I know you're better than this."

Ava offered him a weak smile and a shrug. "Am I?"

"Mm," Fred hummed in response as he pulled her against his chest in an embrace, wrapping his arms around her back. "Do you remember what you asked me at the Hogwarts memorial service?"

"Not quite."

"You said you knew you were supposed to be instilling confidence in me and reassuring me that I could do anything, and you probably weren't supposed to ask it, but you asked me if I wanted to skedaddle."

Ava let out a single breath of laughter, pressing her forehead against the cool fabric of his shirt. "I shouldn't have said that. I should have just told you to be brave."

He cupped his hand around her jaw, and tilted her head back to look up at him. "Bravery isn't everything you know, chivalry and all of that." He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and grinned. "Godric Gryffindor is rolling over in his grave as we speak. It's just that I think I've finally got it...I think loving someone just means you'll find yourself doing what _needs _to be done, rather than what always _should_ be." His thumb stroked across her cheek. "You taught me that."

She wished she had the words for a response, but she didn't. She simply kept looking up at him, and luckily, he continued speaking.

"So forget doing something for the sake of courage, forget trying to prove a point. Forget all of it." Fred placed his hands on each of her shoulders and held her away at arm's length. "What do _you _want?"

Ava hesitated, and let her eyes drift over Fred's shoulder for a moment. They fell on Dakota, who was standing beside Charlie. His arms were crossed, his hands hugging his opposite elbows, and the two men were laughing about something. It suddenly hit her that Dakota had been such a thorn in everyones' side sometimes, and they often teased or dismissed him, but really, he was the bravest of all of them. He'd not only had the courage to spy on Merryweather for years as a double agent, he'd had the courage to face Ava after admitting he'd been the one to cut her throat, snip her hair. He was still standing after countless fruitless attempts to locate his sister, and even then, he'd never given up—he'd nearly died for the sake of protecting them, _the mission,_ he called it—and he stood there, his face scarred and sagging and his bandage over his empty eye socket...laughing.

And she looked back up to Fred. She placed her hands on his chest, and felt the faint ridges of long-healed scars beneath his shirt. He'd done so many reckless things, things just to indeed prove his point time and time again, but here he was, growing before her very eyes and admitting it didn't always have to be about that. He'd torn down the icy stronghold in front of his heart for her, and that...that took more bravery than her walking into that tunnel.

"So?" he asked gently, his thumbs rubbing her shoulders. "What's it going to be?" He cocked his head to the side and lopsidedly grinned, like he already knew the answer.

"Yeah, come on strange bird," George's voice suddenly called out.

Fred stepped to the side and spun around the face everyone. They'd gone quiet, but were all wearing the same gentle, encouraging sort of smile as they watched her.

George's expanded into an identical grin to Fred's. "Can't do it without you."

Ava sighed heavily. "Alright. Yeah, come on. Let's do it."

Ginny let out a single whoop and began laughing, and Ava and Fred walked forward together to stand with everyone at the tunnel entrance.

Bill held out his arm. "Lead the way."

She took a deep breath as she peered into the black depths of the tunnel, releasing it in a steady stream from her mouth. Her heart was hammering in her chest, so hard it was nearly painful. Fred took her hand with his right, and with his left, withdrew his wand and illuminated the tip.

Ava said nothing, but gave Fred's hand a final squeeze before stepping forward, pulling him into the tunnel and beginning the walk down the dark downward slope.

The first thing that hit her was the smell. She remembered her escape; the smell of damp earth thick in the air, but it was more pungent than she recalled, and threaded with something sour, something rotten. She also remembered the fluttering of bats up above, but as Fred's wand illuminated the space dimly before them, she saw nothing hanging from the tunnel ceiling besides roots from the ground above.

"Ugh!" Ginny cried out from behind her, and her tone was nasally, like she was pinching her nose. "What is that _smell?_ And why is the ground getting crunchy down here?"

Indeed, the more the severe the ground's incline became, the more the damp mud beneath their rubber boots went from squelching to crunching, like they were walking on pebbles. Fred cast his wand light down to the ground, and the group collectively gasped and cursed.

"Guess they sealed them in here when they left," said Charlie, crouching down with his own illuminated wand.

The moist earth was littered with hundreds upon hundreds of rotting bat remains, bones exposed and splayed out in odd positions. A brown mouse along the side wall that was picking at one of them let out a terrified squeak as its eyes glinted and refracted the light from Fred's wand and scurried away, part of the bat still in its mouth.

"Let's keep moving," Fred suggested, his voice rigid in an attempt to hide disgust. They continued forward, leaning back slightly and sinking their weight on to their heels as the downward slope intensified.

"There should be a metal door down at the end," said Ava to the group, vaguely pointing downwards.

"That's where we'd always appear, you know, when we were summoned for our shift," tacked on Dakota. "Had to enter a code on a keypad. I'll get us in."

"Dakota," came Harry's voice, "if they abandoned the compound, I'm not sure they would've left the electricity running, mate."

"Electricity? Dad would have _loved_ this," George said loudly, and almost everyone laughed. But the collective chuckle was nervous sounding.

Ava had actually started to smile, but then her eyes had fallen upon the thick metal doorframe up ahead. It reminded her of one of those airtight, iron doors set up outside of high security bank vaults you'd see in movies. She hadn't seen it clearly before, but she remembered shoving her entire body weight against it to get it to open.

"There," she said softly, and froze in her tracks.

Ava stared at it intently for a few more seconds, the cavern silent with the exception of the sound of water dripping into a puddle somewhere behind them. She looked over her shoulder to steal a glance at the group. It was an odd sight to behold—all of their wands were lit and pointing upwards, their arms bent at the elbow. Their faces glowed as the illumination filtered around their jaws, the rest of their bodies disappearing into shadow. It was creating the illusion of body-less heads, bobbing back at her and blinking.

"Hey," came Fred's voice, and Ava turned back to face forward. Fred had crept ahead and trained his wand light on the door. Now he turned his head around to look at the group, and he was smiling.

"Wankers left it open," he said, and gave the door a shove with his foot.

Everyone cringed and hissed, clapping their hands to their ears as the hinges made an offensively grating screech.

"It's all the moisture down here," Bill said, stepping forward around Ava to stand with Fred and wearing the red glasses again. "Without proper maintenance it's a recipe for some pretty spectacular rust." He peered forward, his hands gripping the metal frame as his torso leaned into the purely black opening of what Ava remembered to be the steel-walled atrium. Even fouler smelling air was belching forth from the black doorway.

"I don't get it," he murmured, sighing and removing the spectacles.

"What's up?" asked Charlie.

Bill spun back around to face the group and shrugged, tucking the glasses into his pocket. "There's just _nothing_," he replied, his eyes scanning everyone but hovering especially around Dakota and Ava. "Nothing at all. No curses on the outside, just the dirt charmed around the entrance but that isn't really an especially difficult bit of magic...this door left open," Ava could see him gesturing to the vault-door through the vague glow of everyones' wands, "No curses or obstacles left behind in here...it's just...nothing. I don't get it. It's like they closed shop and just didn't care enough to take any precautions."

"Or maybe they were just in a hurry to leave," said Ginny. She was staring at Dakota, and everyones eyes followed hers and watched him too. "What did they tell you at the new compound about this one? About why everyone left?"

"Lookie here," Dakota replied, rolling his left eye and sighing. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at everyone as though they lacked any real intelligence. "From the very first day you find yourself in the American Military, you're taught one thing."

"Shoot first and ask questions later?" George offered.

"I'd like to hit you upside your big orange head, but you aint too far off," Dakota said with a wink. "You just don't ask questions. Point blank. Period. You work for them, and if you can't follow orders without a million and one questions followin', you aint deemed _fit_."

"You said you heard a rumor about more prisoners escaping?" Ava asked.

"Yeah," Dakota said, and spit on the ground. "Also heard somethin' about riots but honestly...I had a hard time getting' anything outta anyone. It all seemed very hush-hush."

"Meaning?" Harry asked.

Dakota shrugged. "I think somethin' happened here. Somethin' bad, that no one wanted to talk about."

"Or _couldn't_ talk about," George said darkly, and he and Fred exchanged identical scowls.

A few beats of silence passed before Bill spoke.

"Well, we're not going to collect any clues just standing here...what do you say we head in? Dakota, Ava...lead the way?"

Even in the faintly glowing light, Dakota's eye met Ava's, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. Ava didn't even have to pay any mind to the emotions she felt seeping off of him; the look of foreboding in his single eye matched her own look of dread, she was sure of it. They were both doing the same thing: their jaws were set and their knees were locked as they simultaneously came to terms with it: they were going back in. Back in, after swearing they'd never set foot in the place again.

She stole a glance at Fred. He stood beside Bill, and was staring down at her, watching her silent exchange with Dakota. He had every reason in the world to expect nothing but the worst; another outburst, another angry word, another one of her breakdowns. But he didn't. He wasn't staring at her with apprehension or dismay; he wasn't on his tip-toes, ready to swoop forward and catch her before she even fell; and he wasn't yanking her hand into his to lead them in a charge into the atrium.

Instead, there was a quiet confidence about him as he watched her. Watched her like a person, a real person, capable of overcoming her own fears. _Because I love you._

Ava tore her gaze away from him, looking back at Dakota. "Let's go," she said quietly.

He hurried forward to stand beside her, and they walked in step with one another towards the dark, gaping mouth of the doorway. Just as they were about to pass through, Fred's hand found Ava's, and their fingers interlocked, exchanging a single squeeze before he released her and let her lead the way.

Although the shuffling of the group's footsteps were close behind her and Dakota, an overcoming sense of singularity brewed in her gut. The inside of the atrium was dark, darker than anywhere she'd ever been or could even dream of. She'd never known shadow like this; where the blackness was so thick she couldn't even see her own hand in front of her face. It was like being in a spooky attraction of some sort, a haunted house, where even if you're clutched on to your companion dearly you feel utterly naked and lost. The vulnerability was almost overwhelming; and even with everyones' wand tips illuminated, it did almost nothing to light the space. They huddled together, their feeble wand light like a single star attempting to stand out in an empty galaxy.

"_Maximas_ together, shall we?" George's voice echoed through the darkness. He sounded as though he'd accidentally broken away from the group; he was slightly ahead.

"Won't be any good," came Charlie's from behind. "_Maxima _burns out in a minute or two, we need something that'll—_oof!_"

"_Ow!_" Ginny cried out, closely followed by a grunt of pain and muttered swearing from Harry.

"What's happened?" asked Fred from beside Ava, whirling around and holding his wand high above his head.

There was a simultaneous mess of voices as everyone else tried to answer at once.

"Walked into something-"

"Something's here-"

"Must've drifted away from you, can't see a damn thing in here-"

"I walked into Charlie, Harry walked into me..."

Fred's wand light finally fell upon the tangle of splayed-out bodies that was Ginny, Harry, Charlie, and Bill.

"There's a horseshoe-shaped desk somewhere in here," Ava said as she helped heave Ginny to her feet.

George snorted. "What, like the reception desk at St. Mungo's?" He began imitating a whiny-sounding woman's voice. " 'Hello and welcome to Merryweather, how can I help you? Oh, you need a directory? Well, Floor One is our Torture Department'-"

"Bigger than a desk," Charlie interjected. His feet scraped along the gritty-feeling tiled floor as he spun around in place for a moment, casting his dim wand light around him. "There! What is that?"

His light had fallen on something enormous; it was a twisted mass of brushed metal with thick, tentacle-like cables extending out from it spread across the floor. The floor beneath it was deeply cracked and sunken in, as though the metal had crashed down from a high up place.

"It's the sculpture," Ava said, wandering forward to stand beside Charlie. "I saw it here, but it was hanging from the ceiling, on our...my way out." She gulped down the lump that was starting to rise in her throat again; stoking the fire in her belly. "See, that part was the M...there's the W, all collapsed under it...their logo, like my tattoo."

She tentatively stepped forward, closer to it, and reached out to touch the ruined sculpture that had once been suspended from the ceiling. Just as Ava's fingertips met the cold surface, the damaged tile floor below her groaned, and a splintering sound erupted from beneath her feet. She felt several different hands grabbing her arms to yank her backwards, and she stumbled away just as the floor gave way; collapsing in on itself and sinking another few feet down.

"You alright?" Dakota cried, jogging forward.

"Is she okay?" Ginny asked, standing up on her toes and waving her wand light around. It shimmered across Ava's face, temporarily blinding her; she shut her eyes and cringed backward, stumbling over her own feet again. The tight grip on her left wrist tightened and held her upright.

"She's fine!" The grip belonged to Fred.

Ava suddenly realized she was panting slightly as her heart continued to painfully hammer in her chest again. She backed away further, and felt her bottom collide with something and stop her—this time, it actually was the edge of the rounded reception desk.

"Everyone stay away from that pit!" George's voice commanded, echoing through the room.

"Ava?" Fred's voice was soft and at face level; she looked up from staring at her boots to see him hunched down along with her. She hadn't even realized she was doubled over; her palms rested on her knees as she continued to breathe heavily.

"Can we...can we get some light in here please?" Ava panted. "Please...the dark...I don't want to be in the dark..."

"What's going on?" Bill's voice called, and this time it was his wand light shining in her face.

"Stop it, Bill...damn it, give her a second!" Fred's arm curled around her back to lead her away along the other side of the desk. "Here," her murmured, pulling off his jacket and setting it around her shoulders. "Put it on. You're pale as a ghost."

With shaking hands, Ava pushed her arms through the jacket's sleeves and hugged herself, rocking a little.

"I'm an idiot," Fred muttered. "Should've brought some Dinwiddle with me, would've set your nerves right...what're you doing?" Even in the dim light Ava could see him staring at her wide eyed as she hugged herself harder; her arms crossed and hands gripping the opposite side's shoulder, and continued rocking so hard it looked like she was bouncing on her heels.

"Trying...not...to dissolve," Ava gasped.

"Come again?"

"I'm holding myself together. Literally, I mean." And with that, she sunk down to rest of her heels, her face in between her knees.

Footsteps approached.

"What do we do?"

George's voice.

"She's having a panic attack, I think," Fred whispered back. "Just wait it out. She'll come out of it, I know it."

The footsteps retreated, and Fred's words echoed in Ava's head.

_'She'll come out of it, I know it.'_

"Why do you have so much confidence in me?" she whispered, raising her head from between her knees.

Fred crouched beside her. "Hm?"

"Why do you believe in me?"

"Because you asked me to." The look on Fred's face was odd. It was like someone had simply asked him if the sky was blue.

She stopped rocking.

"Fred?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think..." she trailed off, feeling foolish for even saying the words but the question burning nonetheless. "Do I'm still here? Back here, I mean. Merryweather."

Fred continued to stare at her, and his expression was unreadable.

"Sometimes I feel good, but sometimes I feel like...sometimes I feel like I'm not the same anymore. Like when I escaped, part of me was left behind." She gulped again, but her voice was getting stronger, and she suddenly realized her arms had fallen away and she was no longer hugging herself. "Does that make sense?"

Fred exhaled deeply before settling down to sit Indian-style, tugging on her elbow to join him. He placed his illuminated wand on the dusty tile between them, the stream of light facing away, so their faces barely glowed. It was like they were sitting in the dark with nothing but a single candle between them.

The hum of the others' voices and even their footsteps as they seemingly explored echoed around the rusted, pitch black atrium like background noise as Fred replied. "Of course it makes sense," he muttered. "I think it's easy to feel like the place that nearly stole your life is still holding you hostage, in a way. Like they scooped your insides out and made you hollow. Like you're still alive and existing but they got to keep all the important parts."

"Yes," Ava whispered back. And then she nearly jumped in place as realization hit her; she'd never felt so foolish. Of course he understood; he of all people understood. He'd even spoke about it before they came underground—the Memorial service at Hogwarts. He'd been acting so odd; his mood swings unpredictable; dreamy and out of it one moment, angry and bitter the next, anxious and panicking after that. Was she not acting almost identically?

"Your accident. The corridor," she whispered.

She could barely make out Fred giving a single nod. "It felt like that for a long time—until kind of recently, actually," he tacked on, nudging her with his elbow and smiling. "Like I'd had something stolen from me that night, like when I was taken from the rubble part of me got left behind. I dunno," he shrugged, and picked at a chip in the floor. "Even though we came out victorious in the end overall, it still made me feel like they won somehow. And looking back on it all, I think that's what gave me such a blown up temper; God, I was so touchy about it. Everyone was frolicking around relishing in triumph from the war, but for me-"

"It never really ended," Ava finished for him. "You never got to finish the fight."

Fred nodded, and placed his hand on her knee, stroking her with his thumb. "I never understood the weight people put in the whole 'closure' thing until then."

Ava stared at the floor in silence for a few seconds. "I think it's what's happening with me." She sighed and looked up again, only to see he was watching her already. Even in the darkness, their eyes were locked. "It's why this..._this_ doesn't matter. The original compound can close, we can find their safehouse, I can be safe with you all and be with you and be happy, but...it's not over 'til it's really over, you know? Until we shut it all down, until we catch Gridgeon, find Sarah's baby and Callaghan and Taylor..." She trailed off, taking another deep breath before saying her final wish; knowing it was something Fred wouldn't like. "Until we save Fox."

"Ava...I think she's gone. Like, really gone."

_Gone._ The word cut into her like a knife. She remembered Fox's heels squealing against the tile as she was dragged backwards.

"When you met me, Fred...I was so scared, everything was so fresh. What if you'd taken one look at me and decided I was so fucked up, I was just gone? Or when I met you and saw you break down again and again...if I thought you were gone?"

"I see where you're going, love, but for the record, you didn't throw a knife at my head served with a side of death threats like she did."

"I know. But whose to say the same couldn't have happened to me if I didn't escape, if I'd been forced to stay longer? She's no different than I am. This place made her hollow..." She shrugged. "They scraped out her insides and filled her back up with darkness. Maybe we can reverse it."

Ava noticed Fred's foot jiggling back and forth incessantly as he gnawed on his bottom lip; it was obvious he was battling himself for the right words to say.

"We can try," he finally said. "I can't promise you anything at all, just to make sure we're crystal clear, but...I know it's important to you." He reached up and rested his hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair. "We'll try."

They stayed like that for a little while longer as the group continued to explore the atrium and branching hallways; the edges of their knees touching and Fred's fingers becoming gently knotted through her hair. Finally, the group seemed to congregate near the fallen sculpture again, their wand light bobbing in all directions and casting light upon random bits of the rusted wall.

"Fred? Ava?" George's voice called out.

Fred looked over at her. "Ready?" he murmured.

She nodded, and he got to his feet before leaning down to help her up and retrieve his wand from the floor. He took her hand in his as they walked to the other side of the desk to join everyone. They were talking excitedly, and Dakota was clutching a small stack of dirty papers in his hand.

"Ready to get out of here?" Charlie asked, grinning at their adjoined hands and nodding back towards the steel doorway.

"Out?" Ava asked, her brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought we were going to explore through? Don't cut this short on account of me, I can do it-"

"It's not you," George said with a wave of his hand. "We just cant go much farther. Entire lower level is caved in." He jutted his head over his shoulder, gesturing to the staircase behind him that lead to the lower levels, where Ava's Cube had been.

Ava simply blinked once, momentarily stunned. "Caved in?"

"He's right," Dakota said. "Can' go farther than just down those stairs there. Can't get to any of the old Cubes or nothin'."

Ava stared off to the side in silence for a few moments. "I want to know what happened here," she said quietly.

"We all do," Dakota replied. He sighed, rubbing the top of his head before holding up the thin stack of papers. "In the meantime we got these. They aint much but its all we scavenged from the offices down those halls." He pointed to the left and right.

"What are they?" Fred asked, leaning forward to take a look.

"They aint much," Dakota repeated. "Nothin' top secret, really. Just office-y stuff, I dunno, ID numbers for staff and..." He trailed off before shooting a guilty looking glance at Ava. "Prisoners," he finished in a mumble.

"Can we take a look at them later?" Ginny suddenly piped up. She was fingering her dark red hair, where some dirt from the small explosion prior was still caked into the strands. "I really want to get out of here. I can't spend another minute. It's so creepy."

Afraid she'd said something insensitive, her lips suddenly parted as she took a panicked look at Ava. The rest of the group was in a painfully awkward silence; some staring at their shoes, others stealing a glance at her as well.

Ava wasn't sure exactly what came over her. Maybe she'd finally cracked and was going insane. Either way, it felt amazing—she nearly doubled over in laughter; a deep, satisfying laughter, that was the final stomp on the fire that had previously been brewing inside of her gut. She felt lighter, somehow.

Fred's eyes were bulging as he looked at her in incredulity.

"Wh-what?" she finally asked, standing up straight and wiping mirth from her eyes. "I mean...she's right!" she sputtered, gesturing towards Ginny. "This is a very creepy place!"

Ginny's face relaxed into a relieved looking smile, and Dakota joined in on some of the laughter, chuckling under his breath and shaking his head. He got it, too—this place, this place that had been home to so much pain and so many horrors and even death—having Ginny call it simply 'creepy' and whining to leave was just...absolutely, _hilariously_ sardonic.

Finally, they were leaving, stepping through the atrium's threshold and heading up what was now a steep incline inside the dirt tunnel. Ava heard the heavy door slam behind her as Bill and Charlie performed some particularly strong Sticking Charms on it ("I wish we could've just blown the bloody place up," George muttered darkly over his shoulder as he walked ahead of them) and once again...once again, she was leaving Merryweather. Free.

The tunnel began to lighten slightly; they were getting closer and closer to the entrance, sunshine struggling with all its might to pierce the darkness of the earthy cavern. Ava and Fred's hands clung together tightly.

"Fred? Can I ask you one more thing?" Ava asked softly.

He smirked down at her. "Maybe just one."

Ava took a deep breath. "You said you felt hollow because of everything that happened to you, but only up until recently...can I ask you what changed, or what made you feel so much better? And if you say it was all because of me and you shove me up on a pedestal, Fred Weasley, so help me God-"

Fred nudged her, smirking wider. "You want a real answer, or you want to be a pain in my ass?"

Ava pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. "Real answer."

Fred's smirk faded into a real smile, and he looked ahead as they continued to walk, the light shining brighter and brighter on his face with every stride as they neared the tunnel entrance. "I realized something, at the wedding, actually. I was thinking about everything that had happened...not just to me or you," he added quickly. "But to anyone, everyone, at anytime. You and I had collectively been through Hell and back, Angelina's Mum wasn't around to share her wedding day with her...I dunno, just got me thinking about how lucky we all were."

"Lucky?" Ava frowned. "To have been through Hell?"

"Not for that," Fred replied. "But that we'd been through that Hell and survived it, and we all still had each other." He squeezed her hand. "And that having scars doesn't make you hollow. Something happened to you and made you different, but being changed doesn't have to mean you're no longer whole."

Just as he finished, the sunlight finally broke through the darkness, dazzling them all. The sounds of flapping wings echoed softly across the marsh behind the castle. As they stepped out of the tunnel and back outside, Ava looked up. There were birds flying again.


	34. Chapter 34--Indebted

**Chapter 34—Indebted**

"BOO!"

A door slamming open and a figure bursting into a room shouting would have scared most people. No doubt.

But this was Fred and George. They'd spent the majority of their lives actually enjoying watching other people get dumbstruck and startled. A sort of resistance had been built up to the whole _"gotcha!"_ thing—it was practically in their blood.

The twins remained bent over their work table, sleeves rolled to their elbows and hair mussed, only their eyebrows raised and their lips parted slightly as they stared at Ava. She was grinning widely and had her hands spread out before her as though she'd just jumped out to wish someone a happy birthday.

Immediately taking notice in their lack of surprise, she dropped her arms and frowned, clearly crestfallen.

"Oh, come on! You two nearly jumped out of your skin when I came in here quietly and cleared my throat last month! What, are you resistant to _intentional_ attacks or something?" she asked in disbelief.

"Maybe you're just not very scary," George responded, straightening up and stretching.

Fred's palms remained flat on the table as he leaned forward, his eyebrows raised even higher now as he grinned. "Not for nothing love, but you've got an entire bloody _prank shop_ at your disposal. For crying out loud, you went with _'boo'_?"

"Hey, don't knock the classics," Ava replied, grinning back. She stood on her toes, attempting to peer to the other side of the table and over the twins' shoulders. "Watcha got there, George?"

"Hm?" George asked casually, staring at the wall behind Ava's head intently and taking a not-so-subtle step to the right.

Ava rolled her eyes and tipped left, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe of their work room in the back of the shop. "What is this? Come on, give it up."

"What is what?" Fred asked in a high pitched voice, sweet and bursting with faux-innocence.

"I think she's _accusing _us of something, Fred," George gasped, pressing his hand to his chest.

"_Us?_ Really?" Fred squeaked, holding his heart as well and fumbling to hold on to his twin's arm in support as he faked nearly falling over.

"You've been locking yourselves away in this room for a month working on...whatever _that_ is," Ava said, pointing to what the twins were hiding behind their legs. "You're either planning something big, or something horrible."

"Maybe it's something horribly big," George said, hitching up one side of his mouth in a smirk.

"Or big _and_ horrible," followed Fred, and the two dissolved into laughter.

Ava took that as her opportunity; she dashed forward, banking that the two of them were too distracted by their guffawing to stop her in time.

"Oh, no you don't!" Fred was too quick; he caught her around the waist and easily lifted her, tossing her over his shoulder and walking out of the work room quickly.

"Not fair!" she cried, beating his back with her fists but laughing nonetheless.

He reached up and his hand met her bottom with a solid smack. "Ava, that was _bad_. George, send them on up to the flat."

Ava heard George muttering a spell before he followed Fred out of the work room, closing the door behind him and coming to meet them by the shop staircase.

"'Them'?" she asked as Fred bent down to place her feet back on the floor. She straightened up. "You've made more than one big horrible thing?"

"You'll find out soon enough, strange bird," George said, walking by her and Fred briskly and ruffling her hair. "Is everyone here?" he called over his shoulder as he headed to the front door, disappearing behind a couple elaborate display tables.

"Yeah, everyone's upstairs. That's what I originally came down here to tell you," Ava called back to him.

"But instead you went with _'boo'_," Fred said, scratching his chin contemplatively and staring broodily into the distance.

"Are you ever gonna let it go?" Ava sighed, smiling up at him.

He leaned down, and the tip of his nose tickled hers. "Not a chance," he whispered, and he pushed his lips to hers in a kiss.

"Fred?"

Wrong. George's voice was wrong. It had the slightest tone of hysteria to it; frayed with uncertainty and panic.

Fred and Ava both immediately took notice, their lips breaking apart and Fred straightening up, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared towards the front of the store over the displays.

"Yeah?"

There came an odd sound, like the noise you'd get when prying a nail from wood—the woodgrain straining, splintering, and faintly popping. Ava found herself on her tiptoes again, trying to see what George was up to.

"What's going on?" she called. Fred was frowning in confusion as well.

There was a long beat of silence before George spoke again.

"Nothing—nothing really, I've just never seen the door stuck like this. I, er, can't get it to lock up properly. Give me a hand, Fred."

Fred rolled his eyes a little. "Tell everyone we'll be up in a minute, on account of my brother being a great big git." He reached out to touch Ava's arm before leaving her at the foot of the shop's staircase, disappearing towards the front of the store and joining George.

Sighing, Ava turned around and began heading up the stairs. Then, the sound of Fred and George muttering quickly met her ears. She paused on the landing. She wasn't sure if she was imagining things or not; there was a sort of buzzing in the air, like the invisible crackle of apprehension before something happens.

"Is everything okay?" she called in the twins' direction. She fought the urge to turn around on the staircase and head straight over to them, knowing they'd call her silly for acting so paranoid. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

"Love, unless you can fix doors, you're more help going upstairs to the party than hanging around asking questions," came Fred's voice.

She remained where she was for a few moments—frozen on the landing, her hand paused on the railing, her chin resting on her shoulder—but Fred and George were quiet. It was like they were waiting for her to leave so they could talk safely—but about a broken door?

When she reached the flat upstairs, her curiosity was only magnified by the presence of the entire Order squashed into the cozy apartment space. They were all swooping down on her, asking question after question about what the meeting was about. Mostly everyone seemed worried, and mostly no one seemed to believe her that she had no idea why the twins had wanted everyone gathered there tonight.

"Ava...come on...don't tell me Fred hasn't told you what's up...it's something bad, isn't it? What's happened?" Ginny wasn't the least bit deterred by Ava wading through the small crowd, pushing around bodies to head into the kitchen; she walked backwards as Ava walked forward, the concept of personal space completely forgotten.

Ava finally made it into the kitchen, edging herself into the space between the stove and island counter. Ginny continued her pushy inquiry, elbowing Ava in the ribs to step sideways so she could join her behind the counter, too.

"I don't think it's bad," Ava whispered back. "They've been down there a lot lately, in the shop work room. Inventing, or something, I don't even know."

"The boys working on things and treating it as privileged information just for the sake of feeling important is nothing new," Ginny hissed back, wiggling her eyebrows in a know-it-all kind of way. "I doubt they brought us all here to show us their newest shop product."

Ava shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, Gin." She looked up from her mindless staring at the countertop and took a half step back, just slightly startled at the amount of people that had been previously scattered about the flat, now crowded into the small kitchen and staring at her expectantly.

She threw her hands into the air. "For the love of God, I've told you all, I don't know anything!" she exclaimed, angrily wondering how long fixing a stuck door could possibly take.

They all stared back at her, just blinking, as though she'd spoken another language.

Lee was the first to speak up.

"We know, we know, it's not that, it's...well, _that_." He reached out and pointed over Ava's shoulder.

She whirled in place, searching for where his line of vision was targeting, until her eyes rested upon—the enormous pot of Marinara sauce, quietly simmering on the stove.

Bill sent her a wry smile and shrugged. "We're kind of hungry."

"You said we'd all eat when you came back upstairs," Ron followed in a hopeful tone.

Feeling embarrassed, Ava flushed pink and turned back to the stove to give the sauce one last stir as everyone good-heartedly chuckled behind her.

"Touchy, touchy," Ginny chided into her ear, the smirk evident in her voice.

"Shut up and pass me the plates," Ava murmured back, stepping on Ginny's foot. She yelped a little before dancing away to the cabinets.

So began an assembly line of sorts—the Order members formed a haphazard line extending from the kitchen, stepping up one at a time for Ava and Ginny to serve them each a bowl of sauce with a couple pieces of crusty garlic bread for dipping.

"Where'd you get this recipe from, Ava? I think I remember Fred saying you liked to cook, right?" Hermione asked, peering into her bowl of chunky tomato sauce with great interest. She'd come over to stand by Ava and Ginny after they finished serving everyone, and they ate together.

Ava smiled back as she pulled another tray of garlic bread from the oven. "It was my mother's," she replied, settling the tray on the stovetop with a clank. "She'd jar this up and sell it at the local farmer's market back home. It was a big hit."

"Sounds like a lot of work, I'd assume. She must have been really dedicated to the craft."

"Oh, she loved it," Ava said fondly, remembering countless weekend mornings spent in the kitchen with her mother steam-peeling and stewing the tomatoes. "I did too. It was our thing, kind of, together. And this is all made from the store down the Alley, of course, but she made hers from scratch. Grew everything on her own."

"You don't say?" Hermione asked before taking a giant crunchy bite into her sauce-drenched bread.

"Oh, yeah. I've never seen anyone with a green thumb like her...basil leaves as big as book pages, garlic bulbs like apples, onions and tomatoes the size of grapefruits." Ava laughed at the sentimental memory of her mother's spectacular garden. "It was like magic, really."

Just then, the the door to the flat clicked and swung open, and Fred and George entered. Everyone greeted them with loud whoops and claps on the back, sarcastically congratulating them for finally making it. The twins played along, returning rough grabs of shoulders and wide grins, but their hair was incredibly mussed; frizzy and sticking in all directions. They'd been running their fingers through it, Ava realized, over and over again...which they only did when they were stressed. Her gaze drifted to Ginny, who was already staring at her.

_What's going on?_ Ginny mouthed.

_I don't know,_ Ava mouthed back.

"Go find out what's happening," she growled, placing both of her hands on the small of Ava's back and shoving her forwards.

Ava stumbled and grabbed on to the countertop for support. "They won't...tell me anything..._stop pushing me!_" Ava hissed back, reaching behind her to smack Ginny's hands.

"Good thing you don't have to ask._ Pulsus._"

Ava felt the tip of Ginny's wand pressing into her hip, and her skin was suddenly met with a sharp zap, like an exceptionally strong electric shock.

She yelped. "What, you're cattle-prodding me now?"

"What's cattle prodding? Go on, work your magic." Ginny gave her one final shove, and Ava nearly collided with Ron's back.

Ava scowled at Ginny over her shoulder, but moved forward towards the twins nonetheless. Was it her imagination, or were the both of them avoiding her eyes?

She slid in beside Fred, still in the crowded entrance hall of the flat. "Please tell me what's happening, and don't try and tell me it was the damn door," she whispered through a fake, toothy grin she flashed.

Fred ignored her for a moment, engaging in conversation with Lee. Ava breathed slowly; in through the nose, out through the mouth, trying to concentrate and zero in on Fred through the crowd. But it was impossible; everyone was feeling anxious, eager, excited, and worried, all at once, and she couldn't differentiate what was coming from who. The muscles in the back of her neck connecting to her skull tensed, aching from the effort.

"Fred—" she tried again, but was completely drowned out by the sudden shouting of George.

"Alright everyone, alright, gather round!" he was yelling, and he climbed to stand on one of the dining table chairs. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Listen up, you filthy swine, all of you!"

Lee immediately began oinking, and Fred shoved him so hard he nearly fell and knocked over the umbrella stand.

"_Stop worrying." _Fred finally addressed Ava in a low whisper as everyone took a few moments to laugh at Lee. He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. "You're about to find out what we've been up to. _Nosy, nosy,"_ he pretended to chide, giving her hand another squeeze before leaving her. He slinked past everyone, making his way to the dining room table to stand by George.

Fred was now saying something—it must have been something important, because the Order was hanging on to his every word with rapt attention; shining eyes, nodding along, the whole bit—but Ava wasn't listening. She couldn't hear him, over the loud ringing that had filled her ears. Her tongue was dry as she realized her jaw was open; her mouth frozen in a silent scream. Her vision shook and blurred with tears as she lowered her head slowly, staring down at the floor and gasping through her mouth.

"Ava? Ava, what'd he say?" Ginny was at her side now, gripping on to her left arm tightly. She shook it. _"What did he say?!"_

But Fred hadn't said anything special—he'd told her not to worry, he'd teased her, he'd walked away—but he had also squeezed her hand. And the feeling that had traveled from his hand to hers—she'd only felt once.

In the pit of her stomach—it was a black hole. _Disappear, disappear,_ the feeling whispered. It threatened to rise and spread until it swallowed her, like high tide traveling up sands of a beach. It was calling Ava without saying her name. It was prodding her to dig further, yet somehow urging her to run away and never look back, all at the same time. The feeling reminded her of Caribbean humidity and gunshots and icy sheets of rain. A storm that had sunken into every line in Fred's palm, every crevice of his knuckles, bleeding out and giving her clarity with his touch amongst the chaos as she tried to read him through the crowd. It was betrayal, it was anger, it was disgust, it was determination, it was thirst—

It was Fox.

"...we thought it was about time we did something useful with ourselves, no more spouting fire out the arse—"

"For now!"

"Right, for now, but we've got something much better for you lot, well actually, only for a couple of you—"

"But the rest of you will sing our praises, no doubt!"

The twins continued their grandstanding, their words and the loud moans from guests for them to get on with it suddenly coming back and hitting Ava's ears at full force.

"Dakota, come on over, you filthy animal, you're first—"

"Although you _hardly_ deserve it," George finished with an overemphasized roll of his eyes that quickly turned into a grin as he hopped down from the chair to stand beside Fred.

The small crowd parted to allow Dakota to come through. He walked slowly towards them, his face suspicious, and stopped in place while still standing a good couple yards away, his eyes on their wands warily.

"If y'all are tryin' to cast some kinda dipsy-doodle, Mickey Mouse, hoodoo-voodoo spell on me, we're gonna have some problems," he warned them.

"May as well have spoken in another language, mate," Fred lamented, clapping him on the shoulder so hard his knees buckled a bit.

George whipped out his wand with a flourish. _"Accio!"_

Dakota swore loudly (calling George something so foul everyone in the room heard Molly gasping) and dropped down to a crouch, his hands gathered around his head. But his reaction was premature—George hadn't been hexing him at all. He'd pointed over Dakota's shoulder, and with a swift whizzing sound, a small silvery box came flying down the hallway from the direction of George's old room. It soared over everyone's heads, and Fred leapt forward and caught it rather gracefully.

Dakota started stating loudly that he didn't want any gifts, especially from the twins because knowing them he'd open the box and something would come leaping out of it and he only had one eye left to spare, after all—but really, Ava was only half-listening. She'd turned on the spot, her heart racing and stomach churning as she feverishly began fiddling with the front door's locks, making sure they were secure again and again and again—

"Ava—hey—look," came Ginny's voice, pulling on her arm again.

Vaguely aware that her breath was quickened enough to make her pant, Ava turned around again, flattening her back against the front door as she faced the scene everyone was so interested in. The room had gone quiet; Dakota had opened the small gift box. It was resting upon the dining room table and his head was hanging as he stared down at it.

"Well..." it seemed as though he was struggling for the right words. "That's...that's real beautiful, that is. Many thanks."

"Oh, don't be a complete dolt," Fred snapped, sharing an identical look of disgust with George. "Put it on."

Curiosity got the better of Ava as she and Ginny moved away from the door, closer to the table. They stood beside the twins and saw Dakota slowly reaching into the silver box—and extracting—an eye patch, held delicately between his fingers. It looked like it was made of a fine silk, in a blindingly diamond-white shade, with the head band of the same material but braided into an intricate cord. He shifted it in his hands, and the overhead light shimmered across it.

Everyone in the room collectively gasped—as the light had passed over the silken eye patch, it had glimmered, and a gleaming red phoenix appeared, the same spread-eagle logo that Kingsley had made appear on his treasured bullet-proof vest.

"Yeah, boys I can't thank y'all enough, that's real nice, much nicer than this bandage I got-"

"Dakota, for the love of Merlin, we didn't make it for you to look _pretty,_" George sighed. "Put it on!"

As though he was being asked to do some kind of enormous chore, Dakota heaved his breath and grumbled something before slowly reaching up and around his head to unravel the bandage that was currently serving as a makeshift eye patch. Ava couldn't help but notice the majority of the room averting their eyes as the bandage was removed, revealing the marred, rippling skin stretched over the empty eye socket beneath.

A pang of sympathy and guilt rippled across her abdomen as she continued to watch—Dakota fumbled with the twins' patch to stretch it around his head and put it on as fast as possible. She noticed Fred and George exchanging a brief look too—like Ava, it likely hadn't occurred to them that he didn't want everyone to see his true face beneath the bandage.

Ava's attention, along with everyone else's, was quickly directed back to Dakota, as a heavy clunk followed by an immediate shattering noise came from his direction. He was in an odd position, somewhere between standing upright and falling, his knees buckled again and leaning backwards severely as though he'd been hit with some kind of sudden velocity. He was gripping the dining table's edge with white knuckles, and his exposed left eye was blinking rapidly.

"S-sorry," he said breathlessly, his boot crunching on shattered bits of bowl he'd knocked off the table.

With perfect timing, Fred and George folded their arms across their chests in sync, and smirked.

"I take it works, Fred," George murmured.

"I think you're right, George," Fred replied back.

"What is it?" Hermione called out in a curious but timid voice. "You've charmed it or something, haven't you?"

"Go ahead Dakota," said Fred. "Tell her what you see."

It took a few more seconds of Dakota making flabbergasted choking noises before finally pulling himself upright and responding. "I see...well, I just...I see!"

Hermione looked back and forth between him and the extraordinarily smug looking twins. "Come again?"

Dakota suddenly broke into a sprint, running past her and dashing straight to the window in the sitting room that looked out on to some rooftops of Diagon Alley.

"We're calling it The Murray," George called after him. "What do you say?"

After a few seconds longer of watching out the window, Dakota turned back around, a grin on his face so wide it was forcing the dead tissue on the right side of his face to hitch up a bit along with the left.

"I say hell yeah," he whispered, and went back to the window.

Hermione took a few steps forward, closer to the twins. "You haven't...you couldn't have..."

"Oh," said Fred.

"We did," followed George.

"It's not possible," Ginny whispered. "It can't be. I don't believe it, they can't have just made him see, he doesn't even have an eye—"

"Stop talking shit, Gin," George called out with a grin and a wink. "Just admit we're the dog's bollocks and we'll call it even."

The room was quite noisy as everyone began talking excitedly in admiration of the twins' invention. They clearly enjoyed it for a bit, beaming at everyone, until Fred called for attention once more, and George hurried off down the hall towards the bedrooms.

"We've got one more surprise!" He yelled out, waving his arms. "Come on, you think we'd have organized this shindig just for _Dakota?_" he added with a wide grin and wink in the Marine's direction.

Dakota whirled around from his place at the window, shaking his head, his hands on his hips. "You know Fred, I got a couple'a real mean, colorful words I can throw your way right now, but seein' as how you basically gave me my eyeball back, I don't feel safe ever insultin' you again!"

Fred and Dakota roared and whooped together for a moment, then closed the distance between them and embraced, clapping their right hands together and gripping before coming together and thumping one another on the back heartily.

George's return was announced by the sound of something smooth skating across the wood floors. The small crowd parted and he came through, bent over and pushing a tall cardboard box before him. Everyone watched in interest.

"Perce, bring our darling sister-in-law up, will you?" Fred asked, going to stand beside George.

Percy pushed Audrey forward in her wheelchair. Both of them looked nervous.

"Shoes off," Fred instructed, pointing to her small feet resting at the bottom of her chair. Audrey, always one for modesty, immediately began looking slightly uncomfortable and embarrassed as Percy began slipping off her shoes.

"Don't worry, Audrey, they can't possibly smell as bad as Fred's; his smell like Ava gives him nightly Shiatsu massages with blocks of Swiss—_oof!_" He doubled over for a moment as his belly was met with a swift smack by Fred.

Percy stepped away, holding Audrey's light purple ballet flats in his hand delicately. "Now what?"

"Now...drumroll please, Fred..."

Fred began beating the tops of his thighs with his palms energetically as George pulled open the box and bent down into it, ready to retrieve whatever was inside.

He straightened up, and was revealed to be holding what looked like a pair of boots. But they were...bizarre looking, to say the least. They looked like boots fashioned out of metal cages, or perhaps metal cages made to look like boots. They were basket-like and entirely metallic, shining and gleaming like platinum.

"We know they're not very pretty," said Fred, taking one of the boots that George passed him and going to stand on Audrey's left side.

"But we think you'll find them interesting," George finished, clutching the other boot and going to Audrey's right.

They crouched together, each twin busying themselves with one of Audrey's legs...Fred, gently lifting her left, and George, her right, and slipping her small feet, dangling and limp, into the boots. The front of them opened on hinges, like miniature cage doors, and snapped back shut over each of her shins. As soon as they were closed, the twins sprang up, backing away from Audrey rapidly.

"Give her some space!" George commanded the room, and everyone took a few steps backwards, but kept their eyes glued to the scene.

The cage-boots began humming—softly at first, then escalated into a full vibration. Audrey's eyes were wide and a little scared as she stared down at her legs, now shaking so hard they were banging slightly against the metal of her chair.

Then, quite suddenly, as though someone flipped a switch, she—Ava couldn't believe it, she gasped, and by the sounds of the room she wasn't the only one—Audrey was standing.

Audrey...running away from Merryweather, terrified, with a broken wand and with a single gunshot, confined to a wheelchair...she was standing. The boots were holding her weak legs pin-straight.

There was only a moment of silence.

"HOLY _SHIT_!" Ginny screamed, and everyone in the room burst into a joyous ruckus of shock and celebration.

The twins were practically tackled by all of their siblings; it became more or less of a Weasley pile-up quickly, a small mountain of redheads crashing together.

Well...almost all of their siblings. Percy remained where he was, standing before Audrey in shock and amazement. He was staring at her like he was seeing her for the very first time.

The crowd around the twins quickly realized he was missing, and it was only a few moments before they turned back to the subject of their celebration, happy, tear-washed faces looking at Audrey like they were lucky enough to be witnessing a miracle.

When Audrey finally spoke, her small voice was shaking, and she remained staring down at her legs. "You made these...you made them for _me?"_

"You deserve your legs again, Audrey," George said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "The patch is the Murray and the boots are the Filmores, your maiden name." He smiled. "We thought you'd like that."

"Wait a second, so you're going to be selling these in your _joke shop_?" Bill asked incredulously.

"'Course we're not," Fred breezed, him and George casually making their way over to the large trunk that leaned against the wall at the end of the dining area. "Show him, George."

George gave the trunk a firm kick with his heel, and the lid popped open. The twins then crouched before it, their heads together, and they were heard doing something of a countdown before struggling to their feet, absolutely heaving with effort.

"What do you boys have there?" Arthur called out, craning his neck over various other heads to see.

They turned, and cradled between them was a miniature barrel, which, by the looks of it, contained something extremely heavy.

"On to the island on three," George panted, "one...two...there we go..."

Everyone was quiet again as the boys slammed the barrel on to the kitchen island. They took a moment to collect themselves, catching their breath and wiping their brows.

"Right...so..." Fred panted, nodding at Bill first and then everyone else, looking towards Dakota and Audrey last. He put his back to everyone again so the twins could work on the barrel; George wrapped his arms around the top to hold it down and Fred began turning a metallic wheel on the lid that reminded Ava of a watering hose knob. It seemed to get tougher and push back with more resistance at every turn by Fred's hand, but finally, with a satisfying_ pop_, the barrel lid sprang loose, and a miniature avalanche of gold coins came spilling out.

"Fred...George...boys...where did you get that from?" Arthur asked carefully, his eyes as wide as the coins on the stone countertop.

The twins were grinning ridiculously, complete with glints in their eyes and all. Clearly, they were about to let everyone in on some kind of excellent secret.

"It's one-thousand Galleons, Dad," said George, addressing his father but looking between Audrey and Dakota again. "There's another barrel in that trunk, one for each of you," he nodded to them both. "Course it's not much."

"It's only your first payment," added Fred boastfully.

"What do you mean...our first payment?" Dakota asked slowly, leaving the window and joining the queue of Order members again.

The twins exchanged another shit-eating grin.

"To answer your question, Bill," George said, looking at his older brother, "no, we're not selling these in our shop."

"We've sold the formulas and designs to St. Mungo's," continued Fred, examining imaginary dirt underneath his fingernails, clearly enjoying the anticipation and attention. "Under contract that no one in need would ever be charged for either product. Free to all the needy, and, the cherry on top, we've asked to remain anonymous to the public, so they can take credit for inventing them all they'd like if they so desire."

Bill was grinning along with his brothers. "Sounds like a pretty banging deal for them. Which only leads me to one more question...what was your asking price for both the designs?"

The room was so silent, you could have heard _half _a pin drop.

"Oh," said George.

"Not much," said Fred casually.

They grinned at one another again before speaking simultaneously.

"One million Galleons."

There was an immediate shriek and the sound of something breaking; Molly had dropped her glass and it had shattered into a million little sparkling pieces around her feet. But no one moved; no one bolted to begin cleaning it up. People seemed to be rooted into the very floor as they gaped at the twins.

"You'll be taken care of," Fred said seriously, looking back and forth between Dakota and Audrey. "Both of you...Dakota, you can finally move out of the Treehouse, I'm sure our mother is getting tired of feeding you anyway...and Audrey, Percy..." He looked at his brother and sister-in-law. "You should build a house. A new one, from scratch, with lots of ramps and smooth floors...accessible for your chair and the Filmores, when you want to use them."

Audrey buried her face in her hands and began sobbing, her dark brown hair falling around her head like a curtain. But the Filmores kept her steady; her balance never faltering even though her body was racked with her cries of joy and graciousness.

"One...one million?" Ron asked, gawking at the twins like they'd sprouted an extra head each. "You're serious?"

"Letting blind men see and paralyzed folks walk...and letting_ them _take the credit for it...sounds like a small price to pay," George replied with a wink.

"I thought...I thought they would only let me stand," Audrey said breathlessly, wiping her face and staring down at her metal-clad feet intently.

"Nope," said George.

"Take a stroll," added Fred.

"Can I...they'll let me walk?" Audrey asked the twins, whipping her head up, her eyes shining.

George chuckled. "It's a bit funny, kind of makes it look like you're ice skating, see, the force of one leg walking pulls the other along behind it, and so on and so forth—"

Fred jumped in. "We're still working out the kinks to make everything a bit more...fluid...but yeah. Yeah, you can walk."

Percy didn't need any kind of direction or request; he seemingly read his wife's mind like only two people in love could sometimes do, and sprang forward, standing just a couple of stride-lengths away from Audrey. He straightened his horn-rimmed glasses hurriedly and held out his arms before him, smiling encouragingly and expectantly, like teaching a toddler to walk.

"Come on," he whispered to Audrey, wiggling his fingers impatiently.

Audrey hung her head again, staring down in concentration at the spectacular contraption wrapped around her legs. She visibly took a long breath in and out, licking her lips as she did so in an effort to calm herself.

George nudged Fred lightly, and they exchanged identical grins. This wasn't the first time the Weasley family would be witnessing a member of their clan walking once more when it had been deemed previously impossible.

"Ready, Fred?" he whispered.

"Ready, George," Fred whispered back.

"Come on, love," Percy urged again. Tears trembled on the edge of his bottom lids.

Audrey bent her arms at the elbows, holding them tightly against her ribs, her fists clenched hard. She took another long breath, and then with the utmost carefulness, clearly summoning strength from deep inside of her, she moved her right leg forward. She walked.

And then...just like George said would happen...the boot on her her left leg glowed a subtle blue for a moment, then glided along to follow her right. And her full stride was complete.

Audrey let out a little jubilant cry, and collapsed forward into Percy's arms, crying on to his shoulder.

There were a few beats of silence before the room practically exploded with noise all at once; louder than before; several people screamed in delight, Molly burst into loud sobs leaning on Arthur's chest, and Hagrid let out a booming, _"Yeh did alright, boys! Yeh did alright!"_ that was loud enough to wake Sebastian from his slumber in the bedroom with a loud hoot.

"Okay boys...you're the dog's bollocks. You hear me alright?" Ginny cupped her hands around her mouth sarcastically. "You're the dog's bollocks!"

Ava heard Ginny laugh before she left her side, and then, pushing past everyone to come towards her and looking absolutely beyond elated, there was Fred.

She absolutely hated herself for each step he made closer. Everyone around her was cheering, some were even sobbing with happiness; hell, even Vlad was mustering a toothy grin. Ava wanted nothing more than to join in on the celebration...but she couldn't. She could practically hear her blood pumping in her ears; all she could think about was how badly she wanted to pull the twins aside and shake them, ask them what had happened and why their blood had run cold in only the way Fox could have done to them.

"Certainly big, but not horrible by any means, hm? Impressed?" he murmured, reaching down to wrap his arms around her hips and hold her against him. He leaned his head to plant a kiss on top of her head, and as though he could practically smell something was off, he immediately straightened back up, looking at her in confusion, his forehead now lined with worry.

"What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," Ava choked out breathlessly, attempting a smile. "You did beautifully. I can't believe it, Dakota and Audrey—"

"Stop that," Fred said with a curt shake of his head. "You're lying. What's wrong?"

A few people walked past Fred's back, their hands raining down on his shoulders and arms amongst hearty congratulations.

Ava shook her head. "Not now."

"Yes, now," Fred insisted, and grabbed a hold of her hand, swiftly leading her out of her rooted position in the foyer and down the hall.

"Alright Ava, you're proud of him, we get it!" Lee called out, and George let out a long wolf-howl.

"Sod off!" he called back, right before he stepped aside and nudged Ava in through the open doorway of the bathroom.

She stumbled half a step, the back of her knees pressing against the toilet as he quickly followed her in with one wide stride, the floorboards beneath the bath mat squeaking loudly in protest and clicking the door shut behind him. The only light in the tiny room was the sliver coming in from the bottom of the door; they were both bathed in an odd blueish darkness from the dim light reflecting off the tiles. The sounds of their breathing was amplified as well; the small space feeling almost humid.

"You felt it when I touched you, didn't you?" Fred asked in a low voice. "In me."

"I felt your fear," Ava whispered back, struggling to meet his eyes in the blue shadows. "I felt it grip me, like a pair of claws, and not want to let go. But there you were. Smiling with George. Like nothing was wrong." Her breathing had intensified, as though she was yelling, when she was still only whispering. "I don't know how you could fake it—"

"We're good at that," Fred retorted in a soft tone, his voice still managing to sound loud in the small but cavernous bathroom. "We've had plenty of practice. Loads. Took a lot of work to always be the cheery ones for the family when things were going to shit."

"I know it was Fox." It was all Ava had to say; she barely put any power behind her voice, she'd breathed it, really. "I...I felt her. On you. Like she'd touched you."

"She didn't touch me."

Even in the dim light she could see Fred watching her intently as she unwillingly twitched, a shiver going up her spine and causing her to wince.

"Makes your skin crawl, doesn't she?" he whispered.

"What did she do, Fred?" Ava demanded. "You and George were lying, weren't you? The fucking door was stuck, huh? What, was she sitting on the stoop the whole time?"

"Actually, you're not far off," he whispered back with a heavy sigh. "Ava, there was—"

The door behind him swung open, flooding the tiny bathroom with light, noises from the ongoing party down the hall rushing towards them. Dakota and Lee stood there, Lee's hand on the doorknob, and they'd clearly been pulling magic crackers because both Lee was wearing an elaborately sequined hat, and Dakota, a feather boa.

"Alright, lovebirds, let's wrap this up. I gotta take a leak." Dakota started tapping his foot impatiently. One of his feathers fluttered to the floor.

Fred gestured towards Lee. "And what are you, his toilet escort?"

"No, I came to fetch you because Charlie wants to start blowing whiskey with Dragon Breath. Your mum's throwing a fit. I didn't know whether to cheer him on or join her, not sure you'd fancy a blown-up house. Come on!"

Fred looked at Ava with what she guessed was supposed to be an apologetic expression before he allowed himself to be dragged off by Lee.

"I'll get out of your way," Ava whispered to Dakota, hanging her head and making her way out of the bathroom.

"Hey." Dakota caught her around the shoulders. "You two alright?"

She knew he as only concerned; she knew he was assuming her and Fred were involved in some kind of fight or something; she knew the best answer would be simply, "yes", because even though she was a terrible liar and Dakota would know she wasn't being truthful, he wouldn't push it. He'd let her go.

But she couldn't help but wonder herself: _was_ everyone alright? Were they safe? The get-together had turned into a full-on party, and everyone was so happy, felt so safe...but what did Fred mean, she wasn't far off from guessing Fox was waiting on the stoop? Was she out there, right now, watching them?

The fear rose in her again, nearly knocking her unsteady, like tide crashing upon the rocks. Nearly swallowing her whole.

"I'm not weak," she whispered to Dakota, repeating the phrase he'd taught her. But her voice almost broke, and it sounded like she was attempting to convince herself more than him.

"Damn straight you're not," Dakota whispered back, nodding once. He did something a little strange; his hand twitched upward, and Ava had the distinct impression that he'd have tipped his hat towards her if he was wearing one.

The bathroom door clicked shut. On her left was a blaring silence and darkness seeping forth from the bedrooms, and on her right were bright lights and sounds coming from the rowdy party. She just stood there, by herself in the hallway, perfectly frozen in the middle of loneliness and company.

* * *

They were on a precipice.

It had taken a couple more hours for the party to die down, and for people to finally begin to get tired and depart for their respective homes...McGonagall herself had taken up about twenty minutes of the twins' time personally, fascinated by the magic they'd used for the Murray and the Filmores...but, nearing midnight, the guests had finally left.

And now there was this—Ava, staring at the twins, her back against the kitchen counter, feeling their fear at full force. It had been masked well during the Order's party—after all, you can only feel so anxious while more or less of a line of people were coming at you to say you had to be some of the greatest wizards of the age—but now, the flat was empty, the mess was cleaned, and they were on a precipice. Teetering. The twins kept exchanging looks like they were waiting for the other to speak first.

_The door was stuck._ Bullshit.

"Is she here?"

Ava spoke first; her voice was eerily calm. The conversation needed no formalities, no introductions, no disclaimers—they all knew exactly what she was talking about.

Fred and George looked at each other again, both leaning across the countertop. Fred finally looked at Ava to speak.

"Somewhere, yeah. She must be."

It was quiet for a few seconds again, but it wasn't the same kind of quiet that had taken up the space several times during the party. No, this quiet wasn't full of excitement and anticipation and fascination. This quiet was the second after someone pressed a button on a detonator.

It was a quiet waiting for a bomb to go off.

"Tell me what happened."

George looked to Fred, and Fred reached into the back pocket of his pants, pulling out what looked like a wad of rags. He placed it down on the countertop with a clunk; whatever was wrapped in the rags was heavy for its small size.

Ava left her spot and came to stand beside Fred, staring down at the thing wrapped in an oblong shape.

"Go on," Fred whispered.

Ava picked at the edge of the cloth cautiously, just pinching the very tip between her fingers like she was afraid it would bite her. She pulled it away, and—a knife came tumbling out. Its small serrated blade glinted in the light and the black handle looked heavy. It bounced on the counter once and slid away a bit.

"When I went to go lock up," George started, "that was stuck in the front door. Kind of where chest level would be, but lower than me or Fred...and it was stuck all askew, see, it wasn't done perfectly...it wasn't placed front and center, like a threat..."

"It was stuck there in a moment of frustration," Ava whispered.

"She was trying to get in, Ava," Fred murmured. "I recognize the knife, it's not the same one she threw on the island but it kind of looks like it belongs in the same set, you know? And then when you touched me, after I'd touched this..." He pulled the knife over towards them again. "You felt her...you knew she'd touched it. It's hers."

"She wasn't stabbing the door to scare us, as a warning," said George. "She was stabbing it because the wards we have set up weren't letting her in, and she was pissed."

Ava picked up the knife. It was as heavy as it had sounded when it had clunked against the countertop. She looked down at it, turning it over and over in her hands, until she froze. It had hit her at just the right angle, and she found herself staring down at a reflection of her eyes in the blade, like a mirror. They looked so...frightened. Like a hunted animal who just realized it was being watched.

She put it back down and pushed it away from her. "So what do we do now? Are we going to get attacked the second we step outside?"

"That's what we were talking about when we first found it," said George, raising and lowering one shoulder. "We're not sure what to do now...we can ward up the shop all we like but the Alley's fair game. I dunno, do we close business for awhile to stop people from coming 'round?"

"Last time we closed shop we attracted more attention than ever," Fred muttered back, reaching behind his head to squeeze the back of his neck.

"Maybe...maybe we can have different Order members stay outside the shop everyday, I dunno, stand guard?"

"People have _lives, _George, we can't ask them to come play security outside a joke shop once a week. And besides, what are we supposed to do, keep that going on a permanent basis?"

"We're always doing this," Ava whispered. The twins stopped bickering for a moment to look down at her. She could only imagine how insane she must look; her eyes were probably bulging and out of focus as she stared across the counter at the knife. All she could think about was her reflection in that blade.

"We're always just waiting for them...waiting for them to come and blow something up, so we can fight back." Ava shook her head and looked up at them. "We need to get one step ahead of them...for real this time! We can't keep doing this, we can't keep letting them scare us and hope when we walk out the front door that knife won't be aimed at our chest next time. We have to do more than just stay alive."

No one protested, but it seemed as though they were all fresh out of ideas. It went quiet again, the clock ticking gently in the background.

"I think we need to start brewing again, George, " Fred said suddenly, staring out into space. "Like we used to, you know? Just stock up and slip it in everyone's drinks when they're not looking, do what we need to do for now to keep everyone breathing...of course you can take some home for Ange." Ava thought he was making no sense at all until she saw George react, his mouth abruptly twisting open in silent horror—well, at least _he _knew what his twin was rambling about.

"Erm...am I missing something?" Ava asked tentatively, looking between the twins.

George was still gaping, but Fred gently smiled at her, leaning across the countertop towards her on his elbows.

"Haven't you ever wondered, love?"

"Fred!" George suddenly exclaimed. His face had gone white and he was positively sputtering.

"Wondered what?" Ava asked quickly, ignoring George, her eyes locking with Fred's.

"Why I'm still standing here. Why I'm still _alive_. Come on, you saw the size of that castle wall for yourself, don't tell me you didn't find yourself wondering how on God's green earth I made it that night?"

"Fred, stop it!" George cried, gripping his twin's forearm tightly. "Stop it now, you hear me? We promised never again—"

"Shut up, George," Fred said in an eerily calm voice, not breaking his eye contact with Ava. "She deserves to know. I'm not going to be dropping it to her without her consent, not like with everyone last time—"

"We're not going to be doing that again!" George proclaimed, his voice rising to a near-yell. "It's completely illegal, Fred, we were only lucky last time-"

"Well yeah, considering the loads of Felix Felicis that gets dumped into it you shouldn't exactly be surprised we were getting _lucky_—"

"I'm not playing around!"

Ava jumped; this time, George really _had_ yelled.

He panted for a moment before speaking again, at a regular volume. "I...I'm married now, Fred, I have a family. We're not kids anymore. I can't get myself thrown into Azkaban by the Improper Use of Magic office—"

"The wizarding prison?" Ava spat out. "What are you two going on about?"

The twins stared at her; Fred, his eyebrows raised and forehead wrinkled, looking torn and frustrated, and George, looking utterly defeated, exhausted, and desperate.

"I mean...come on, you guys can't argue in front of me and not even tell me what the hell you're arguing about." She attempted a shrug, folding her arms across her chest uncomfortably.

Fred and George glared at each other, each of them clearly not willing to budge.

"I didn't even tell Ange about this until after we were _married_," George said in a low but dangerous voice.

"She's as good as family," Fred whispered back. "Come on."

_'She's as good as family.'_ Ava felt warmth creeping up the back of her neck, and her stomach did a funny little jump.

George continued to stare hard at his twin for a few more moments before making a frustrated guttural sound.

"Fine," he snapped. "You're going to do what you want anyway, I can't stop you."

"You would've done the same thing," Fred poked him, offering him a grin.

"Shut up," George muttered. "Let's just take her to the toilet and get this over with."

Ava raised her eyebrows. "Take me to the toilet?"

Fred was grinning at her, although George continued looking crabby. "Come on, follow us," he said, and him and George left the kitchen and began making their way down the hall.

Ava scurried after them, wondering what in the world they could possibly be up to. Fred stepped into the bathroom first, the floorboards squeaking under him, and edged towards the toilet, stopping only to tap the overhead light on with his wand. George followed, and with a heavy sigh, sat himself on the edge of the tub, and immediately began chewing on his nails.

Ava leaned on the doorway, holding her elbows against herself. "What's going on?"

"Ava," Fred said softly, hitching his pant legs up and crouching down on the bathroom floor. He grabbed a handful of the fluffy white bathmat and tossed it over his shoulder into the tub behind him, and with a long exhale of breath, reached down and knocked on one of the wooden planks in the floor.

Ava furrowed her brow in confusion and interest; that was the board that was constantly squeaking beneath all of their feet.

"_This_ is the reason I survived the accident," he whispered. He dug his fingernails into the gaps around the plank and pulled; it came loose with little effort.

Ava wasn't sure _what _she was expecting to see, but she knew it wasn't the grubby little cardboard box that Fred extracted from under the floor. But he was holding it like it was his firstborn child; delicately yet firmly, with the utmost care. He set it down on the closed toilet lid gently, and Ava heard the sound of what seemed like small glass bottles clinking against one another.

Fred replaced the floorboard and stood up, grabbing on to a handful of his hair and tugging at it by the roots for a second before letting his hands fall to his sides.

Ava spoke first. "What are those?" she asked warily, staring down at the box on the toilet. She could see tiny gold bottle caps lined up neatly. "Potions?"

"Yeah," said Fred, nodding. "Yeah, it's a potion. It's called Vita. Me and George invented it."

"It was our first invention," George mumbled, still sitting on the edge of the tub with his thumbnail between his teeth.

"Well, yeah. Sort of," Fred followed. "It was the first thing we ever started working on, but it wasn't fully functional...erm, perfected...until right before we left school to open our shop." He reached into the box and took out a single vial, coated thickly in dust. He polished it off with the hem of his shirt, and then absentmindedly began twirling it between his fingers. The vial was clear and the potion inside was also clear...no, silver...no, the lightest pink...it was _strange,_ every time the light hit it seemed to show off a different facet of color, and looked almost slightly carbonated.

"What does it do?" Ava asked softly, her eyes transfixed on the gently bubbling liquid.

"It makes it so you can't die," Fred whispered back.

George immediately shot him a filthy look. "Don't be a git," he spat.

Fred rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Alright, alright, George is right. Don't get me wrong, it has its limitations," he said quickly as Ava gaped at him. "It's not like you can go and get your head chopped off and walk away. It just makes it..." he trailed off, struggling for words.

"It makes it _harder_ to die," George finished for him. "Not impossible. But really, I mean_ really_, difficult. But there's a catch."

"Of course there had to be one, with something like that," Ava said, laughing lightly and shaking her head in disbelief. "What, does it make you grow extra appendages or something?"

"Obviously not," Fred retorted with a snort, and raised his eyebrows at her smarmily. "You would've noticed by now, I hope."

"It has to be drunk in twos," George said quickly. "That's why all the bottles have these little stoppers, you see, in the light?" he snatched the vial from Fred's hand and finally got to his feet, reaching up to hold it directly under the lamplight. Ava did indeed notice; exactly halfway down the vial was barely a whisper of glass, a tiny barrier separating the potion in two.

"After the first half's been drunk it'll disappear," George continued. "And then the second person can finish it."

Ava shook her head. "I don't understand. Did you make it like that on purpose, so the two of you could always split it?"

The twins exchanged quick glances.

"No," said Fred in a rather careful voice. "We just...found out over time."

"Found out? How, by drinking it and repetitively dying?" Ava asked sarcastically.

"Not exactly," George said in the same timid tone. "We...used, a lot of...test subjects." He cringed.

Ava's jaw dropped. "What, you went around using that on _people_?!"

"What? No, no, no, no!" Fred answered quickly, waving his hands. "We, erm...went through a lot of rats."

"Rats," she repeated after him.

"Rats," George echoed. "There were always tons scurrying around the castle, they weren't exactly hard to find...and they were kind of perfect...needed something a bit bigger than flies but smaller than cats or dogs, you understand—"

"We would feed it to one, and then have it do something...ah...life threatening," Fred continued, his ears turning an impressive shade of puce. "And it never worked."

"How did you know the potion maybe just wasn't right?" Ava asked incredulously.

"Because we were dumping it on Hagrid's tomato plants," George said quickly. "So technically speaking, those were our first test subjects...anyway, we basically watered them with it and then did all sorts of hexes on them, trying to make them wilt—"

"No dice," said Fred.

"Right, and then, I dunno whose idea it was first, but then we started counting tomatoes," continued George. "And the plants that had lived past the curses had equal numbers of tomatoes, but the ones that died had odd numbers."

"It's a very..._temperamental,_ little potion," Fred said with a shrug. "Needs to be dispersed but can't be separated too far from its other half. Clingy little bugger."

"And when the wall fell on him," George said, tilting his head towards Fred, "I was thundering up the bloody stairs looking for him, and I'd just reached the entrance to the corridor when I heard the collapse. Honestly, if I'd been further away, it probably wouldn't have worked."

Ava took in and released a deep breath, trying her best to process it all. "Alright, question...why after inventing something like this, something so _important,_ why did you just box it up and never speak of it again?"

"Well, yeah, we boxed it up," replied Fred. "Then we started using it, and divvying it up between our family, without them knowing of course, right as Voldemort was coming to a head because we knew we'd need it sooner or later—"

"Only lasts a few days," George added.

"Right, but why box it up in the first place?" Ava asked. "Why not sell it, why not become famous for it? That's what you would have wanted back then, isn't it?"

"You're not wrong," shrugged Fred. "Making this thing was stemming from our search for eternal glory, after all. We were complete gits, really. Wanted to be invincible."

"To answer your question...we hid it away because it's borderline illegal, if not fully," said George. "There's a difference between healing magic and..."

"Playing God," Fred finished for him.

"Right," said George. "Witches and wizards have been put on trial for even less than this. It's wrong." He stared down at the tiny vial, rolling it between his fingers like how Fred had done. "You know, we were making it at first just to see if we could do it, I think. Just being cocky little idiots."

"But once we'd actually done it," continued Fred, "we scared ourselves a little. I dunno, we thought we'd be really proud, but honestly it just felt wrong."

"Wasn't much different than what Voldemort was doing," added George. "Trying to live forever, I mean really, what were we playing at?"

"Which leads us to our next point," said Fred, crossing his arms and leaning back against the tiled wall. "This potion...it's begging for trouble. It's not a question of if it got into the wrong hands, it's when and at what expense?" He let out a puff of air and grabbed at his hair again, shaking his head. "George got it. Idiots."

"Then why not destroy it?" Ava whispered.

After a few seconds of silence, Fred and George looked up to meet each other's eyes and exchange looks.

"I think...deep down...we knew we'd need it one day," Fred finally said. "And turns out we did. We slipped it in everyone's bloody pumpkin juice the night before the Battle...everyone we could actually find, that is..."

"Harry, Ron, and Hermione weren't there," said George with a shrug. "Neither was Percy. Git came bursting in just in time."

"And Harry's Godson's parents?" Ava asked. She looked at Fred. "You told me they were in the Order, but they died at the Battle."

"They were married," Fred said in a soft, strained voice. "They spent that night together, with their child."

"We didn't have a chance," George said sadly.

"So...this is what you were talking about?" Ava asked Fred. "You think we should start drinking this again now, for protection?"

"I think maybe we should sleep in shifts tonight," George suggested quickly, looking back and forth between her and Fred. "Put this away for now and come up with a plan. Like you said, try to get one step ahead of them on a more permanent basis. And if we have to go in with a bang...no casualties. No one else gets hurt. We drink this and blow them out of the water." He dragged his index finger across his chest. "Cross my heart."

* * *

The sitting room floor had bore the burden of enough people pacing over the past few years, it should have had a worn-in trail by now.

It was nearing four in the morning. George had stayed awake first, then Fred, then a little while ago he'd come to wake Ava.

But he hadn't needed to—sleep was nowhere near within her grasp.

So she'd eagerly accepted the task of becoming useful, rather than tossing and turning in bed. And here she was now, pacing back and forth, back and forth, in front of the large window Dakota had been staring out of dreamily earlier, the twins' gentle snores audible from down the hall.

Every time she passed the window, she turned her head just slightly to look warily out. It wasn't much of a spectacular view; the window looked out upon a stretch of rooftops smaller in stature than their building, and down upon a cobblestone side street. The only storefront this view faced was that of a white brick building, Miss Teeley's Muggle Trinkets and Toys. And beside it, the thin alleyway Ava had somehow wound up in with Gridgeon.

That thin alleyway looked the same each time she'd passed it. She'd paced by it now, what, thirty times? Forty?

But somewhere around the forty-first time, Ava nearly tripped and fell over her own feet.

Never in her life had she ever had to do something as ridiculous as pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming, but this was indeed the moment to do it—had she dozed off, fallen over while pacing and was now having a wildly vivid dream about the person she was supposed to be watching out for? Was she imagining her?

No. Fox was real, she was really down there; as real as the pain from Ava's arm she was repetitively giving herself as she pinched.

She looked awful; the same as Ava remembered her from the island, but not the same as when she knew her before. She was skeletally thin, with shadows under her cheekbones, the one side of her head still shaved and the other side, a wild mane of her formerly glossy black hair. Her arms were crossed, and she was leaning her shoulder against the brick of the thin alleyway, a few tin rubbish bins beside her. Where the hell had she come from?

Ava couldn't fathom why in the world she was doing this, just gawking down at her. Wasn't the whole point of being on shift for guard duty tonight to keep a watch for Fox? If one of them spotted her, they were supposed to raise the alarm, wake the others, prepare to fight...

So then why was she just staring back down at her, making eye contact with her through the glass like she was an old acquaintance spotted from afar?

Fox did a come-hither motion, smirking and pointing to the window first, then curling her finger towards her palm.

With a heavy sigh that sounded an awful lot like a growl, Ava conceded, kneeling on the long windowsill and reaching up to unhook the latch. It was as though the window had been dying for freedom; the second the latch became undone the window swung outwards, hovering over the alley. The warmth from inside the flat contrasted with the outside chill, and a thin foggy outline of where Ava's fingertips had touched on the glass near the latch vanished like a ghost.

Still keeping her knees firmly planted on the sill, Ava gripped the window frame tightly, and leaned forward, just enough so her head was hanging out.

"What do you want?" she hissed down, mentally kicking herself at the absurdity of the question.

"Howdy to you too, Ava-loo," Fox called up in a sing-song voice, saluting her. "How's my favorite girl?"

"I saw that knife you left, in the door," Ava hissed. "That was cute. I'll ask you one more time before I start screaming; _what the hell do you want?"_

"Maybe I'm having a moment of mental clarity within the cuckoo's nest between my skull," she drawled, tapping her fingertips along the rubbish bin's lid loudly. "Maybe I just wanna talk! Have a tea party, or something!"

"Are you really alone down there?"

"Fuck yeah I'm alone."

"Oh yeah? And how do I know that?"

"_ALL BY MYSELF!"_ Fox suddenly began bellowing, holding her arms out at her sides. _"DON'T WANNA BE—ALL BY MYSELF..."_

"Please, be quiet," Ava pleaded, the breeze whipping her hair around her face. But she dared not to let go with even just one of her hands from the frame to tuck it back; the last thing she needed right now was to lose balance and tumble down three stories, splattering on to the cobblestone street in front of Fox—

"Here's your options, sweet pea," Fox called up, getting even louder just in spite. "You can hop your narrow ass back inside, lock the doors and windows, draw the curtains, and live in fear a little longer waiting for me to _really_ rock your world." She paused for a chortle. "_Or,_ you can come on down and get some of the answers I know you're _positively dying_ for."

Ava hesitated, resisting with all of her might to let out a scream of frustration. "Is this a trick?" she finally replied, her jaw hard with a scowl as she glared down at Fox with what could only be described as pure hatred.

"Stop making your face like that or else it'll get stuck that way," Fox said back loudly with a widening smirk. "Now get your ass down here, or there's going to be trouble." She heaved her chest in a sigh. "Come on, it's the least you can do. You owe me."

Ava couldn't even believe the complete silence, the lack of words from her. She should have been taking this moment to tell Fox how absolutely disgusting she was, question her, ask her what in the world could have possessed her to do this, to work alongside Merryweather, who did she think she was—

But then, a voice came floating back into her head. Her own voice, spoken to Fred in the dark abandoned compound only a week before: _'But whose to say the same couldn't have happened to me if I didn't escape, if I'd been forced to stay longer?...This place made her hollow...they scraped out her insides and filled her back up with darkness.'_

Why was it that when other people, like Fred, questioned Fox's sanity, her goodness, her intentions, Ava felt defensive? She herself had seen her come out from the shadows on the island, she herself had seen and smelled and touched the blood from the cut on the side of Fred's scalp after she'd thrown the first dagger, she herself had had her life threatened by Fox. So why had she still always felt this innate need to protect her, to save her?

She thought back to their visit to the compound again, where she'd wondered if she'd left part of herself behind. Had she found it? Was this it; was this the part of her that was missing? The part that had promised they'd all get out together, her, Fox, and Callaghan, the last ones standing, no matter what, all or nothing...

Maybe Fox standing below her now, twisted and dark and wrong was the physical representation of that promise she'd made...and broken. It would certainly explain why she always felt the desperate need to protect her from afar, yet got intensely, passionately angry every time she actually saw her...Fox was the embodiment of what Ava had left behind. The promise.

Fred's words from earlier found themselves wandering back into her head:_ 'She's as good as family.' _She thought about him now, sleeping soundly in their bed. Her chest ached as she thought about how many times he'd saved her, how badly she yearned for him to be safe in return. When they'd first met, he had been the one to promise _her _safety and protection...but what if she had the power to offer that back to him, here and now?

What if this was her only chance?

Was Fox right? After leaving her behind during her escape, was Ava indebted to her? Did she at least owe her this, a potential moment of getting through to her while she had some kind of temporary clarity? Her voice had gone back to sounding almost...human, then.

Against all of her better judgement, against everything and anything she _should_ be doing, Ava found herself doing the opposite. She wondered how she'd made it this long, still alive, if she was so outrageously stupid.

She sat down on the windowsill, swung her legs over the side, and prepared to climb down to meet Fox.


	35. Chapter 35--Buried

**Chapter 35—Buried**

_She was always making that stupid face._

_Part bewildered, part horrified; her mouth wide open in a silent, ugly scream. That stupid face. She was looking at me like I was fucking crazy._

_Maybe I am._

_Who am I kidding? Deranged, demented, unhinged, batty, mad as a hatter...call it what you want, but yup, I am nutty as a fucking fruitcake and I know it ._

_She had looked at me like that the first time I'd hit her. I'd just woken up on the cold tiled floor of the Merryweather Cube, and she thought it would be a good idea to lean over me. Sweet girl, but Ava's always been lacking some brain cells._

_She'd been prodding me, her swollen mouth saying things, but seeing as I wasn't fully awake yet, it had all just sounded like nonsense; words blurring and bleeding together like ice cream melting down a cone. When I'd finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw were hers—green as my mother's jade earrings around the pupil, washing out into grey along the edges. _

_And then I noticed the bruises, and quickly put two and two together._

_Well, at least that's what I thought I was doing. Could anyone have really blamed me? Last thing I remembered was getting the piss beaten out of me in a London parking lot at 1am by someone whose face I couldn't recall. Next thing I know, I'm waking up on my back with someone equally as fucked up leaning over me. I hadn't remembered fighting back that well, but shit, for a brief moment, I believed that I had. _

_Ergo my first reaction—my arm, formerly splayed out beside me and limp like a strand of plain cooked spaghetti—I swung it upwards, my hand already curled into a fist. I wasn't even aiming, but I still managed to make contact with her face. Ava had yelped like a stray dog that had been kicked, and flew backwards, scurrying away quickly. Even in my half-awake stupor, my pride had grown: Aw yes, first I had beaten the crap out of my kidnapper out in the parking lot, and now I was kicking her ass again._

_Truthfully, all 4-feet-11-inches of me felt like a total badass._

_That was before I sat up, and I'll never forget the look on the boy's face behind the other side of the glass. His square jaw was hard and he was looking at me like I was..._

_Like I was crazy._

_Ava was crouched in the corner of the glass cube, holding the side of her face where I'd hit her, a thin trickle of blood escaping from her bottom lip. And her face was doing it, too—the silent scream, the look of outrage, of disgust, like I was a cockroach that had been hit with a flame thrower and still refused to die._

_'What the fuck?' she'd gasped, and spit out an impressive blood clot on the stark white floor._

_I'd told her I didn't know I had hit her that hard. She countered by saying I hadn't, she had just been beaten up the day before and I'd lolloped her right where she'd had a tooth knocked out._

_I remember my first reaction being quickly running my tongue over all of my teeth and making sure they were still there. Now that I think about it, I never actually apologized to Ava, or to the boy on the other side of the glass, who I'd come to know as Callaghan. I'd punched the girl and then immediately became concerned about my own pearly whites._

_Sigh. I guess I had always been a selfish bitch._

_Ironic though, wasn't it? We were the first three in and the last three out._

_AHEM. Correction: the last three **remaining**. I had my freedoms, but I wouldn't quite call myself 'out' just yet, and Callaghan...well, that was a whole other story. Ava was the only special snowflake who got 'out'._

_As for me and Cal? Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200._

_I remember Ava's face from that night so clearly, even though she'd been crouched by the door and surrounded by thick smoke. The mist had passed her face for only a second, but in that moment of clarity, she'd been looking right at me as I was dragged away from her. She'd made that stupid fucking horrified face. And then she looked contemplative. Like she was weighing her options._

_Bitch._

_I hadn't known if we'd ever see each other again._

_Yet here we are, together once more. Peanut butter and jelly, whipped cream and sprinkles, the mac to my cheese._

_Ha! Sike. Ava and me, we'd always been more like...oil and water. Maybe it was my fault; maybe socking her right in her toothless jaw had set some kind of precedent for our relationship. Either way, we weren't friends, never had been, and never would be, even in some alternate dimension._

_I'd last seen her nine months ago on Christmas night, and then again two months ago enjoying island life. Both times she'd stared at me like that, and she was staring at me like that again now._

_Every damn time I saw the girl. She was always making that stupid fucking face._

_There's no saving me._

_It's over._

_Although this time, I guess I don't blame her. Slitting someone's throat before your very eyes would push anyone to make that face._

_As soon as I feel the hot blood gushing over my wrist, my arm holding the lifeless body in a chokehold, Ava starts screaming. She's absolutely hysterical. She's unraveling._

_She's going to need therapy, this girl._

_I'm suddenly disinterested in the whole affair. I could practically feel my eyes glazing over as I stare past Ava, my gaze transfixed on the brick wall of the alley way behind her. I drop the body and it falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes._

_This is how I know I'm completely bonkers. Who slits someone's throat and then just loses interest? Shrug. Me, I guess. I find myself just letting my feet do the work for me; I walk off, away from the chaos, off to find something else to play with._

_There's a sudden rush of intense heat behind me, followed by more shrieking._

_I'm brought back to my last track meet before I graduated high school. It was something like this. Intense heat beating down on my shoulders, people screaming. But that's because it was June and the crowd was cheering for me. Not because I'd just murdered someone and now there were flames streaming out of people's hands._

_It's a crazy world out here, I tell ya._

_Who wants pizza? _

* * *

Twenty minutes earlier

What was it that was giving Ava the desire to climb down and meet Fox that night? It certainly wasn't hate. Hate would have made things so much easier.

"You know, if you were moving any slower, I think you'd be moving backwards," Fox drawled from the ground below. Ava could hear her tapping her fingernails on the metal bin lid.

"Shut...up!" Ava hissed back over her shoulder. Fox chortled in response; sounding lightheartedly amused as though she was watching a small dog do tricks.

The wind whipped Ava's long blonde hair around her face, tickling her chin and neck. She furiously scrunched up her features, trying to satisfy the itch without her hands. Her toes strained and cramped as she teetered on the minuscule ledges of brick that jutted out from the building in an alternating pattern. Her arms were stretched out to the right, desperately grasping on to the gutter beside her. They shook from the effort.

If this was about hate, Ava could have dashed away from the window and charged out of the flat and down the stairs; through the shop and down the side alley to face her. Or she may have even recklessly swung out the window; haphazardly gripping on the outside sill before dropping from the third story—a sprained ankle here, a broken wrist there, what would it have mattered if it meant finally facing the girl she hated?

But she didn't. She couldn't.

Yes, hate would have made things so much easier.

But did Ava truly hate Fox? No, not really. She hated who Fox had turned into, she hated the way Fox made her feel, and she hated what Fox reminded her of—Callaghan's fallen, crumpled form, blue overhead sirens shrieking, pleading not to be left behind while her shoes squealed against the tile as she was dragged away...Ava wasn't sure if she would ever shake the feeling that attacked her gut every time she thought about it all, but even Ava knew guilt wasn't to be confused with hate.

"You didn't even have the decency to throw on a pair of _socks _before coming down?" Fox called up as Ava lowered a shaking foot down to the next brick ledge. "_Rude. _What do I look like, some kind of savage? Maybe I should leave! No shoes, no service, babe!"

It was true; the silt of the bricks grinding against Ava's bare feet wasn't exactly preferable, but she'd made the call in fear of losing her nerve—if she'd turned away from the window and went to pull on some shoes, she would have given herself time to consider how stupid all of this was. Climbing down the side of the building...well, it was the epitome of an asinine 'now or never' moment.

"I thought my corns could use some grinding down, actually," Ava growled in response, lowering down to another brick and sliding her hands down the gutter.

Fox snickered. "So you're still making jokes, huh?"

"That's right."

"Hey spider monkey, now that I think of it, why didn't you tell your boy toy I was here? You know, the one I gave the one-sided haircut to?"

_Fred. _Ava, white-knuckled on the gutter, leaned the smallest fraction of an inch away from the wall. It was just enough to tilt her head up and peer at the bedroom windows of the flat.

There was no sign of any disturbance inside—the windows remained still and dark.

"Because," Ava said through gritted teeth, frustrated as her left foot fruitlessly swung beneath her, failing to find another brick to step on. "I come down here like you want, and you leave him alone. You leave them _all_ alone. That's the deal."

Fox whistled. "I don't remember making that deal. I mean, let's be fucking honest, my brain is scrambled eggs so I don't remember a lot of shit, but I don't think I ever said _that_. Plus, I don't wanna leave him alone! Don't be such a selfish bitch, Ava. Didn't anyone ever teach you to share your toys?"

Ava had heard just about enough—Fox could continue acting as batshit crazy as she'd like, but it was clear she was only carrying on at this point for pure irritation. And it was working—Ava was ridden with anxiety (as though scaling down the side of a building wasn't enough) that any moment now, one of the twins would hear Fox's chattering and throw open the window.

After all, she was trying to _protect_ Fred...not get him a spinning dagger stuck between the eyes.

With a slow, wary glance over her shoulder, Ava looked down at the ground below and instantly felt a smidge of relief—she had made more progress than she thought she had. Her foot hadn't been missing anything, in fact, the alternating jutted-out brick pattern that she was using to climb started about six or seven feet off the ground. She could easily make the jump.

"You can do it!" Fox cheered obnoxiously, moving forward to stand beneath Ava. "Come on, I'll catch you!"

Ava stared at her skeptically for only a second before Fox couldn't contain herself; she burst out laughing.

"Just kidding. No I fucking won't." She turned on her heel and retreated back into the thin side alley, sighing and leaning her shoulder against the white brick.

That was the remainder of the motivation Ava needed. She couldn't keep hanging here, showing such apprehension and cowardice while Fox stood below her jeering, practically munching on popcorn.

She bent her knees in her cramped stance as best she could, and pushed backwards off the wall, attempting a mid-air turn so she could land facing forward. It was incredibly clumsy, but it worked; Ava's bare feet slammed down on the cold cobblestone—off balance, but landed nonetheless.

A sudden wave of intense vertigo passed over her; it felt as though the ground beneath her was tilting and sliding her backwards. Ava nearly lost her footing, squeezing her eyes shut and teetering around with her arms outstretched like a blind man until her hands made contact with the wall. She steadied herself against it until the sensation passed; her stomach churning, bile rising in her throat.

Fox snorted. "_Someone's_ out of shape. You're total weak sauce!"

With her balance returning and the nausea fluttering away, Ava took a shaky step away from the wall, bearing down to lean her palms on her knees and catch her breath.

"I would've thought you'd be more fit, thinking of all the cardiovascular activity you do while running away from everything. I mean, you've still got the body of an eight year old boy. What are they calling it nowadays, The Two-Faced Bitch Fitness Plan?"

With a final deep exhale, Ava finally straightened up, wiping her hand across her mouth, and eyeing Fox like she was some kind of bizarre creature in a zoo.

"You're crazy, Fox," she whispered, shaking her head. As soon as she said it, a pang of instant regret flitted about in her chest; it was common sense to never call _an actual crazy person_ 'crazy'.

Surprisingly enough, Fox limited her reaction; only biting her lip while grinning in apparent glee. "Baby," she said softly, and leaned forward, resting her hands on the rubbish bin. "You just scaled a building to come meet a person who threw a knife at you eight weeks ago." She chuckled. "I may be crazy, but you...you're something special." As her hands left the bin while she straightened back up, something on her wrist flashed in the street torch's light—the glass face of a rather large wristwatch.

"What's that for?" Ava asked suspiciously, nodding at the watch. She'd never seen Fox wear it before.

"To tell time," Fox said shortly. She suddenly busied herself with moving the rubbish bins to the side, against the wall of the side alley. "Now get your ass over here."

With a last glance over her shoulder at the dark upstairs windows of the flat, Ava cautiously went forward, her stare trained on Fox the whole time. She was really regretting not bringing a weapon of some sort with her as her gaze drifted to the various daggers Fox had strapped to herself.

"So when did you become an assassin?" Ava asked coolly. "Don't try and tell me you were secretly some kind of ninja the entire time we were locked up together."

Fox burst out laughing. "_Ninja?_ Is it because I'm Asian?"

"You know what I meant," Ava replied. "I saw you fight once, if you could call it fighting. You jumped on that soldier's back and got your little ass kicked. So what's with all of...this?" She gestured to Fox's getup: her black cargo pants, black fingerless leather gloves, a harness around her chest and belly holding rows of tiny knives, and thigh straps on each leg holding larger ones. "Are you heading to culinary school or was this a job perk?"

Fox's almond shaped eyes narrowed further. "You probably shouldn't be such a smartass to someone with a knife. Were you absent that day in school?"

"I'm serious, Fox," Ava said. "You wanted to talk, let's talk. What happened to you?"

Fox paused, staring at her for a few seconds before she spoke. "If I tell you...you have to promise to be a good girl."

Ava had to consciously stop herself from grimacing; the infantilizing way Fox was speaking to her made her skin crawl. But she wasn't sure how sound of mind Fox was at the moment. She couldn't begin to fathom what being a _'good girl'_ amounted to in Fox's book, but she had a funny feeling her psyche was beyond the realm of questioning at the moment.

Ava humored her. "Fine."

Fox's face relaxed slightly. It was then that Ava noticed her pupils were unevenly dilated again, like they were on the island, but not as severe this time.

"Once you skidaddled, it was time for Plan B," she started, her voice soft but dangerous. "After that night, Merryweather didn't stand a chance. The guards...they were always pricks, but they weren't as hard as they'd like everyone to think. Gridgeon tried his damnedest and a half to remain in control, but what's a dictator without followers?" Fox let out a single bark of laughter. "Wrestling us around, pulling our hair, watching us all get ourselves killed one by one...it entertained them. But that night...when one of their own got killed..._fantastic_ shooting, by the way...and then how they shot Cal? Watched him crumple and listened to me scream for mercy?" She shook her head slowly, her uneven pupils dead-set on Ava's. "I can't even tell you the amount of times I heard the guards talk about revolting. The phrase _'I didn't sign up for this'_ got tossed around more than_ 'hello'._"

Ava was immediately brought back to the night in the Treehouse's top level when they first spoke to Dakota.

_'I did not sign up for this shit...I don't even know what the hell to call it anymore.'_

And then there was the change in location and the rumors of rioting. Ava had seen it for herself: the abandoned, ruined compound with the massive **MW **sculpture crashed to the floor and the bottom floors caved in...

"There _was_ an uprising, wasn't there?" Ava whispered. "Merryweather...it's crumbled, hasn't it?"

It was suddenly all starting to make so much sense. At the moment, their attacks had seemed so brutal, so organized, but in hindsight, they were completely ragtag...if Merryweather had truly been as powerful as it had originally started as, why not eliminate the Order from the beginning, one big bang and call it over? But they'd never done anything of the sort, never even come close...the attack on the shop had been Gridgeon and an aimless, uneven number of soldiers without a plan. And the assault on the island bungalows, exploding one by one just to herd them out and chase them around...now that Ava thought about it, it seemed so...unofficial. Disjointed. Like it was some kind of game.

Fox nodded once. "On paper...Project Merryweather is over."

"And not on paper?"

"Gridgeon's having too much fun to stop. Now that he's had his taste of what it's like to have powers, to not be a Squib, why should he give that up? Our government filed the paperwork, the compound is shut down...it's out of their hands now. As far as the United States sees it, Gridgeon and the mess they left behind is no longer their problem. And Gridgeon's really enjoying that mess, you see. Like letting a toddler splash around in the mud. Why do you think he didn't have much trouble scraping up the remainder of the team and continuing their _bloody_ work? And by bloody, I mean that literally."

"If Merryweather's _truly_ done, that's what I'm having a hard time believing," Ava admitted. "If their mission was disbanded, why stick with Gridgeon, of all people? He's not powerful, he's not a leader—"

"You don't need me to even tell you this. Come on, dumbass, think. Why do you think some of the soldiers stuck with him, even after their mission was over and they were summoned back home? People would _really_ have to believe in HIS mission in order to follow him. He'd have to give them some _really good_ motivation to join his team. To make them feel it was worth it. _Think!"_

They remained in complete silence for another moment before something clicked inside Ava's head. She blinked and shook her head.

"They're...Squibs. And families of Squibs, and Half-Bloods...it's all of them, that were targeted in the war before."

Fox grinned, strongly reminding Ava of the Cheshire Cat. "And Bingo was his name-o," she whispered. "Are you surprised it was so easy for him? The Department of the Unnatural knew exactly how to play the game. I bet you've asked yourself a thousand times—why here? Why not conduct their research back in the land of the free, the home of the brave?" Her grin widened. "They knew exactly who to recruit for their little science experiment. After the war, there were a lot of pissed off magic folk around here. Tired of being bullied and having their loved ones killed because they weren't magical enough. Well just imagine their delight when they received an invitation to join an-" she paused to hold up her fingers and curl them into quotations "-'_elite faction dedicated to both magical and scientific research, committed to make the gift of magic equal and unlocked to all'_." Fox threw her head back to laugh. "I've seen the original invitation letter, that's how The Department of the Unnatural rounded up all the pathetic lost souls to recruit them into Merryweather. Isn't that the richest bullshit you ever did hear?"

"So, on Christmas, when we...when _I_ left," Ava amended quickly as Fox's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, "The revolt began...the official Merryweather was officially shut down...and then..."

"It transformed," Fox whispered in an overly dreamy voice, crossing her wrists and interlocking her thumbs to turn her conjoined hands into a fluttering puppet. "Like a beautiful, magnificent butterfly. Merryweather, The Sequel. Directed by Gridgeon Zonko. Starring angry magic-less half-breeds, with a supporting cast of American college students locked in glass cages."

"I'm getting the idea you know what we were there for in the first place," Ava said quietly. "We knew we had to be guinea pigs for something, we just thought it was for United States FBI or CIA or whatever to learn how to invade minds and find a space to practice. But you know something, don't you?"

"They were never trying to give _themselves_ powers, darling," Fox drawled, batting her eyelashes. "They were trying to give them to _us_. Trying to see if they could. Generous, right?"

"Do you know why?" Ava pressed. "Why us, I mean. You can't tell me we were randomly picked, we all had too much in common. All Americans, all college students around the same age—"

"All with very interesting family allegiances," Fox interjected, her mouth twitching absurdly. She pressed her lips together; she was fiercely holding back from bursting out with a gleeful secret and not doing a very subtle job.

Ava furrowed her eyebrows. "What?"

"Your father was in the Marine Corps, wasn't he? Did you know mine was in the Air Force? And Cal, both of his parents were in the Army. Met in basic Training, as a matter of fact."

"Fox, what does this have to do with anything?" Ava asked impatiently.

But Fox continued determinedly. It was apparent that now she had started her roll, she had no intention of stopping. "I'm going to ask you a question. I'm going to make you think about the shit you don't want to think about." She took a few steps forward slowly and tilted her head up, until she was at eye level with Ava. She was disturbingly close; their chests were nearly touching and Ava could feel the warmth of her breath on her neck.

"Who started it all? Who brought you to Merryweather?"

"Gridgeon."

"Nope-ity nope, nope, nope," Fox sing-songed back to her, bouncing back and forth on her toes and heels. "Gridgeon was the middle man, babe. Our reservations were made and confirmed when we were only just twinkles in our Daddy's eyes."

"Stop it, Fox," she said, shaking her head vigorously. She was regretting coming down here more and more with every passing moment of this wretched conversation.

"Who do you think landed you in Merryweather, huh?! Who do you think basically sent in your damn application?! You think Daddy offed himself because he _missed_ you? It's called guilt! WHY THE FUCK DO YOU THINK DADDY TOOK A NAP HE NEVER WOKE UP FROM?!" With that, Fox swung around abruptly to kick one of the tin rubbish bins as hard as she could. It exploded with noise, echoing throughout the alley and falling on its side, crashing into the other cans and rolling away.

Foregoing all sense of caution, all sense of discretion, Ava stomped over to Fox, fire brewing in her belly.

"Don't you _dare_ speak about my father like that!" Ava snarled. "You're crazy, Fox! Fucking crazy! My father never would have sent me there! Never!" She was fuming; the breath heaving out of her nose was practically burning her nostrils.

Fox stared at her, moving her jaw from side to side with her eyes squinted as though she was considering something. Perhaps considering whether or not to hit her. But then, she released her tension, taking a step back away from Ava and letting out a small, humorless chuckle. "Relax, sweet pea. He didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. Only crime he committed was choosing to reproduce. Project Merryweather needed volunteers to come _work_ for them, not to _participate_."

Ava was suddenly remembering something: Dakota's memory, from the day Taylor was taken. And what the soldier had said: _'Your daughter will be coming with us. It's a government mandated program.' _But Dakota's parents weren't in the military, and Taylor was chosen for being a witch. What was Fox getting at?

"Your father made a pretty big mistake, joining the military the way he was. All of ours did. They should've known Big Brother would be on them like white on rice." Fox shrugged. "Who knows what the hell they were all thinking. Maybe they thought joining the military was a good move; like they'd be recruited into some kind of kick-ass special forces league." She laughed. "Or maybe they thought it was the easiest way to blend in. Like they could hide it or something. Silly gooses." She flapped her arms at her sides like wings. _"Honk, honk."_

Ava paused. "Hide it?"

Fox scoffed. "Yeah, I know. Stupid, right? If I was running around with magical powers, I think joining the military would be the last thing I'd do." She paused before breaking out into a grin. "I'd be afraid of ending up in some kind of wacko experiment. Being locked in a cage or something. Ha! How about them apples, Ava? What's that they say about apples? When life hands you apples, make apple pie? Or is that one lemons? But lemon pie sounds so _sour_..."

Fox continued prattling on as Ava stood there stupidly, listening to the blood pumping in her ears. Her mind was reeling, yet felt oddly blank, like a cassette tape left in the player after all the songs had run out...

And then Fox came back to Earth, her attention suddenly whipping back to the scene before her.

"Have you ever done it? Magic, real-life abra-cadabra, bippity boppity bullshit. Like you've seen your boy toy do. You have, haven't you? I'm right—I can feel you about to piss your pants from here." She glared at her smugly.

"I'm not...I'm not..." Ava could barely speak. Her tongue felt like sandpaper in her mouth.

"Spit it out, sugar plum."

"I'm not a witch," she finally forced out. Everything about this meeting was suddenly starting to feel very dreamlike, like she had floated out of her body and was watching from above. She extended a shaking hand behind her until it gripped the edge of the brick wall, relishing in the sensation of the silt under her fingertips. Anchoring her to something.

Fox arched a single black eyebrow. "Of _course_ you're not a witch. But your father was. That's _why_ you were taken for the Merryweather Project. It's why we were _all_ taken. I already told you their little manifesto-they were '_committed to make the gift of magic equal and unlocked to all'. _Why else do you think you were picked, ya big fat Squib?"

The world stood still for a moment. And then a cat went swiftly trotting across the alley. And then Fox and Ava were still standing there, facing each other, waiting for the moment to be over.

Squib.

Why did it sound like such an ugly word to her ears?

It made her think of Gridgeon. She thought of the ghostly prisoners that would pass by her Cube occasionally, dragging IV stands along with them. They were Gridgeon's steady source of blood for drinking; magical blood coursing through his Squib veins and letting him do magic.

How could she be anything like him?

But Fox was right—she'd done magic, _real_ magic once.

George had asked her in the Treehouse: What had happened after Ava had shot the soldier on the island? What had caused everything to float, all those bits of nature, levitating above their heads? She'd told him Dakota had burst in on the scene, yelling something.

_'GAH, woman, you'd do best to wipe your face! Lookin' like the Grim Reaper, bringer of death!'_

She had shot the soldier, the wizard...and felt his warm blood splatter against her. She'd been in shock.

With her mouth hanging open.

Was it so unreasonable to say that a drop or two had made its way to her tongue?

"Oh...oh my good golly gosh. Butter my butt and call me a biscuit." Through her nonsense, Fox actually sounded genuinely surprised. "You really didn't know, did you?"

"Why are you telling me this?" Ava's voice was barely a whisper as her head sunk until her chin touched her chest. She couldn't summon the strength to look up, willing for more than anything in the world not to let Fox see her cry. And there were pools of tears brimming and vibrating on her bottom lid, threatening to escape down her cheeks. Right now, all she wanted to do was dissolve into the very brick behind her and disappear.

"You asked me to tell you what happened. You asked me where I learned to be such a fucking ninja. You asked me to tell you about Plan B."

"So what is it, _Annie?_" Ava spat, her voice rising louder than she meant it to, finally lifting her head and addressing Fox by her real name. Hot tears finally made their escape and splashed down her face and neck. "What about _your _magic? You deflected that spell on the island with your hand, I saw you. We all saw you. Are you drinking blood, like Gridgeon did? What's your Plan B? Why are you teamed up with them? Give me a good reason. Go ahead. I'd love to hear it."

Fox opened her mouth like she was about to speak, and then abruptly closed it. Then, in a very business-like manner, she crooked her arm and peered down at her large wristwatch, even passing her thumb over the glass face to clear away smudges.

"Ah," she said hastily. "I'd love to chat more, but see, we have a prior appointment." She cupped her hand around her ear. "Do you hear that? Right on time!" She tapped her watch.

There was a beat of silence, and that was when Ava heard it: the sound of high-heeled shoes click-clacking against the cobblestone. They were coming from the direction of the shop.

Ava jumped out from behind the side alley to squint through the darkness for the source of the noise. Her heart was pounding hard; she was half expecting Gridgeon to appear wearing stilettos.

"That's right, over here!" Fox called out to the direction of the footsteps.

The illuminated lamp on the corner suddenly welcomed a rippling shadow into its circle of golden light upon the ground. The footsteps were revealed to be coming from none other than Rita Skeeter, wearing an offensive shade of fuchsia and clutching her acid-green quill in one hand, and a generous roll of parchment in the other.

"What is this?" Ava asked quickly. Her heart was beating very fast. "What's going on?"

Fox lolled her head over her shoulder, grinning at her crookedly, maniacally. "I've always wanted to see my name in lights," she whispered.

It was then that something inside Ava snapped. She had not even a clue where Fox was heading with this—why the hell was Rita Skeeter here, it had obviously been planned—but something horrible was brewing in her chest again. And that horrible thing told her she didn't want to find out.

Ava lunged for the first loose thing she laid her eyes upon—the metal rubbish bin lid. She straightened up, the lid already crooked in her arm against her ribs, and took a couple swift steps back. Then, with all her might, she released it, spinning it into the air like a Frisbee until it crashed straight into hers and Fred's bedroom window: right on target.

The relative quietness of the night fractured as the sound of shattering glass filled the air. Some of the glass rained down upon the cobblestone, and some of it fell back into the gaping hole the lid had created, into the apartment.

Fox whirled around, enraged. "You said you'd be a good girl!" she hissed, and she lunged forward.

Ava jumped to the side, dancing out of her way, clumsily backing up again and again, making Fox circle her like a wolf closing in on its prey. For a split second, she saw Rita out of the corner of her eye, watching the scene with rapt attention. Her quill was magically balancing itself on her parchment and was skating across excitedly.

"_Two girls, light and dark, yin and yang, face each other outside the once beloved Weasley's Wizard Wheezes,"_ she was whispering to it rapidly. _"You may recall the shop was at the epicenter of controversy not long ago, after residents of Diagon Alley reported hearing Muggle gunshots coming from the place in the dead of the night."_

"Rita," Ava called out, still backing away from Fox, "get out of here. Go. It's a trap, leave!"

But Rita continued seamlessly as though she hadn't even heard her. _"Your trusted reporter is watching the scene unfold live, after receiving an anonymous invitation to step foot on the scene at this exact time, knowing I'd be the one to finally expose the truth—"_

"AVA!" Fred's voice screamed.

All three of them, Rita, Fox, and Ava, whipped their heads up to investigate where the voice was coming from. Ava nearly collapsed with relief; Fred was leaning out the broken window, and George could be seen over his shoulder.

"Get Rita out of here!" Ava shrieked up to him, gesturing wildly to the very confused reporter.

"Hang in there, we're coming!" he yelled back, but his voice was already fading as both he and George dashed away from the window.

Fox abruptly stopped pursuing Ava. She straightened up and blinked, hard, like she'd just experienced some sort of clarity.

"You know what?" she asked aloud. "I'm not even mad. Let them come down. Let them see the scoop I've got in store for Miss—what'd you say your name was, again? Forgive me, my short term memory is a little..._addled_." She sauntered over to Rita while shooting Ava a wicked grin over her shoulder.

Rita perked up, like she was being called upon in school. "Rita Skeeter, special reporter," she said crisply. She nudged her floating parchment so it went ahead of her a few paces, and she walked along behind it, staying close. "And what's _your_ name, dear?"

Fox batted her eyelashes, as though she was incredibly surprised and flattered the reporter had taken an interest in her. "Well, my name is You're Shit Outta."

"Come on, come on," Ava muttered to herself, clenching and unclenching her fists nervously, watching the corner where the shop's storefront was.

Rita Skeeter furrowed her eyebrows and leaned towards Fox. "Come again?"

"You're Shit Outta," Fox repeated.

Rita raised a penciled-in eyebrow. "Shit Outta, what?"

Fox grinned and bent her knees. "Luck!You're shit outta luck!"

And then she pounced.

Rita released an uneven, bloodcurdling scream as Fox jumped on her, wrapping her arms around her waist and dragging her a few paces to the side, towards Miss Teeley's Muggle Trinkets and Toys. Her parchment and quill fell to the ground, and she attempted to wrestle against Fox. But it was hopeless-for being so small, Fox appeared incredibly strong; she was now standing behind Rita with an arm tightly wrapped around her shoulders in a strong chokehold.

"Stop it, Fox, stop it, let her go! You don't want her, you want me!" Ava jogged forward towards them just at the exact second Fred and George appeared on the corner under the lamp light, their hair blown back as they ran wildly against the wind. Their wands were already out and clutched in their hands.

"Nobody fucking move!" Fox declared. In one swift motion, she used her free hand to touch her own belly, releasing a knife from its strap. She brought it up to join her other arm, still choking Rita, holding the flat side of the blade against the side of Rita's head.

"Nobody fucking move or she dies!" she yelled. "That includes you two jackholes behind me," she added, her dark pupils looking out the corners of her eyes as though she could see out the back of her own head.

Fred and George, who'd slowed down their sprinting in an attempt to stealthily advance, taking wide, tip-toeing strides, stopped dead in their tracks. Ava could see their lips minutely moving as they whispered to one another.

Rita Skeeter attempted to whip herself around, thrashing, to which Fox only tightened her forearm on her throat further. She sputtered, choking, and her magenta cat-eye glasses went tumbling to the cobblestone ground beneath her feet.

Fox's eyes drifted over to Ava's lazily. "Do you feel it?"

Ava continued watching her for a few more seconds, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every quickened breath. "Feel what?" she whispered back.

Fox blinked a few times. "Freedom. Being free. That's what they always say about the truth, right? Setting you free?" Rita continued to whimper and continued her pathetic attempts at freeing herself as Fox stood as still as a statue behind her, her chin barely touching Rita's padded shoulder. Although her left eye remained dry, unmoving, her right eye suddenly flooded with tears.

"Tell me you feel it, Ava," she whispered back harshly. The skin on her already pale arm turned an even ghostlier white as she pressed it harder to Rita's neck. "Tell me you feel it. Tell me what freedom feels like."

Fred and George were waving their arms in the air behind Fox and Rita, but Ava found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the horrible scene before her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

The tear came tumbling out of Fox's eye. "Does it smell like wildflowers?" she whispered.

And she moved the blade from the side of Rita's head to against her throat. Her eyes left Ava, veering to the side and adopting a glazed-over look. Like she was remembering something. Like she was focusing hard on something in the distance, yet seeing nothing at all.

"Let her go," Ava begged, her voice cracking. "You can stop all of this right now. Let us help you. Let her go, Fox...Annie. _Please._ Just..." She trailed off, breathing rapidly, not taking her eyes away from Fox's face. All she wanted her to do was look at her. Meet her eyes. But Fox was absentmindedly staring over her shoulder. Wherever her mind was, it wasn't here.

"I missed my opportunity once," Ava whispered, tears biting at her eyes. She blinked, and she saw the cobalt blue sirens behind her eyelids. "Don't let me miss it again. Let me save you."

There were a couple beats of silence as Ava waited for her to say something back. Her gaze flashed briefly to Fred and George watching desperately from down the alley, practically poised on their tiptoes, ready to bolt over at any second.

"_Please."_ Rita let out a squeaking, shuddering plea, breaking the silence. Her feet danced beneath her for a moment, losing her balance in her hysteria, and there came a crunching noise as her heeled shoe landed on her fallen glasses.

Fox's lips parted like she was about to speak, but it was a few more moments before she said anything.

"There's no saving me." Her voice was completely monotone. For just a second, her wrist must have twitched, because the blade glinted in the light.

"It's over."

Her eyes were still distant and out of focus as she dragged the knife across Rita's pale throat. The blade cut the thin chain of a silver necklace she was wearing, which went tumbling down into her shirt before the blood erupted from her neck.

There came an awful choking noise from Rita's mouth as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Then came the crimson waterfall, pouring from her throat, splashing over Fox's forearm, obscuring the face of her watch...

Shrieking noises filled the air; so loud and piercing they rose an instant ringing in Ava's ears. But the screams were coming from her. She'd completely lost control at the sight before her; she was doubled over, she was ripping her own hair out as her scalp exploded with painful protest, her vision was blurring, her legs were failing...

"Fox, what did you do?" she wailed. More hair popping from her scalp. "What did you do, _what did you do_?!"

It was Fox's reaction...or lack thereof, really...that was scarier than anything she'd said or contorted her face into that night. There was no maniacal grin, there was no mindless quip, there was no threat that Ava was next.

There was nothing. Complete and utter blankness. Rita continued bleeding over Fox's arm, her legs wilting under her as the life left her body, and Fox continued fixating on something in the distance with that glazed look in her eyes.

Then, she released Rita's body, letting her fall to the ground in a heavy heap, her body crumpling and flopping like a ragdoll.

"_Nooooo!"_ Ava was screaming. The heat in her belly had returned, as had the smoky feeling in her nostrils. Every inch of her skin felt like it was on fire. _"Nooooooo!"_

Fox didn't flinch, and didn't look back as she began walking away, deeper down the side alley they stood in. Strolling. Her arm dripping thickly with blood. Casual.

Ava whirled around to face her back as she walked away. There were screeching, animalistic noises emitting from her mouth, her entire face soaked in a mixture of tears and snot streaming from her nose. She watched as Fox's long black hair swayed as she walked, gently...

She wanted to jump on her. She wanted to stop her. Wanted to hurt her, wanted to kill her—

"Ava! No! Stop!" Fred's voice came from over her shoulder. His and George's shoes pounded on the cobblestone as they ran.

And then, the fire in her gut was spreading, up to her heart, into her shoulders, down her arms, touching her very fingertips; it was transcendent of anger, of disgust, of hatred, it was more than that, eons more, the smell of blood had already filled the air—

Someone dropped a match into gasoline.

At least, that's what it seemed like. A rapid wall of flames suddenly shot up in front of Ava, rippling and dancing wildly in the night time breeze. Fox had somehow set her on fire. She gasped sharply, choking on her own tears and snot, and stumbled backwards, but the fire was following her...

"Ava! Ava! _Aguamenti! Aguamenti_!" Fred's voice was screaming. He was screaming. He was hysterical.

He leapt forward as he brandished his wand, and Ava felt thick streams of cold water hitting her palms. But the fire wasn't going away; it was searing, blinding, the air had turned into a putrid cloud of black smoke...

"Your hands, Ava! Your hands! It's coming from your hands!" George's voice. _"Aguamenti!"_

The smoke was strangling her; she doubled over, hacking and retching. She went to clutch at her chest and the fire narrowly missed her face. She smelled burning hair.

"Ava, I'm sorry!" Fred called out in a pleading voice. Through the cloud of smoke and ripples of heat making the scene shimmer before her, Ava could see him pointing his wand to her head.

"_DO IT!"_ she screamed, the fire projecting from her fingertips licking the cobblestone ground, the glare from the blaze nearly blinding her.

The last thing Ava saw before she lost consciousness was a blast of red light emitting from Fred's wand, the last thing she heard was his quick shuffle of footsteps as he darted forward to her side, and the last thing she felt was his arm scooping around her lower back, catching her before she hit the ground.

* * *

Hate was a heap of dry desert brush, sitting out in the afternoon sun.

Hate was a single thread of smoke, a single flicker of a flame.

It was under control.

_Nothing will happen. Nothing will happen._

Everything happened.

Hate was a wildfire. It flickers in the distance before closing in on you. Before consuming you. Before burning everything and everyone down.

Hate makes nothing easier.

Nothing.

* * *

Rita Skeeter was buried four days later.

Although the skies opened and poured so hard it seemed that the Earth was flooding, witches and wizards showed up to the funeral in heavy droves. Even the Hogwarts memorial hadn't seen crowds like this—the cemetery looked as though it was holding a convention of some sort. The sea of darkly robed people expanded across the grounds so thickly, the sight of tombstones were mostly obscured.

Ava, Fred, George, and Angelina stood in the receiving line together. They neared the burial site, where a witch was solemnly passing out red roses to each visitor as they approached the grave. Each time she gave a flower, the basket on her arm appeared empty, and then another one, just as full and lush as the one before, would appear with a soft pop.

"I didn't think this many would show," said a wizard in a hushed voice to his companion. They were just before George and Angelina in the receiving line. Ava, clutching to Fred's arm tightly, buried her face into his shoulder.

"Merlin knows she made enough enemies in her lifetime," the other wizard murmured back. "She had talent, that woman. She could cause a murderous rage with just one printed word."

They chuckled lightly, rain dripping from the wide brims of their hats.

The receiving line began moving forward again, and Ava tightened her grip on Fred.

"Please don't let go," she whispered.

He turned his head, resting his chin on his shoulder to look down at her.

"Not a chance," he whispered back.

The line moved again, and they took their roses from the solemn witch. Just a couple more steps, and then they were under the tent, quaking in the storm but doing its damnedest to keep the burial site dry.

"Fred—" Ava started.

"Come on," he urged. "I've got you."

They reached the edge of the rectangular hole. Ava hung her head like she was gazing down into it like the others, but her eyes were squeezed shut. She wasn't sure what she was expecting to see—Rita's body, her crimson blood indistinguishable from her fuchsia suit?

Warm lips suddenly touched her earlobe, and Ava smelled Fred's hair.

"You're not weak."

She opened her eyes. He was staring at her, expectantly but patiently, as were George and Angelina. Their arms were outstretched over the grave, their roses dangling from their fingertips.

She exhaled, deeply, and raised her arm with them. They let their roses drop together—not simultaneously. But almost.

Fred was tugging on her hand, attempting to pull her away from the grave, but Ava's feet remained rooted to the ground. She could see the silvery sheets of rain coming down around her, she could hear the wind whistling and the drops of water patting down on the tent above her, and when the wind blew sideways, she could feel the water dribbling down her head, plastering her hair to her scalp and gluing the fabric of her clothes to her arms. She knew she should feel absolutely soaked, absolutely freezing.

But she didn't. Instead, she felt nothing.

Because that's how she had to feel, at this second, in this moment. Numb. Cold. Anesthetized.

Because she couldn't say what she needed to say if she let herself feel anything right now.

"I know what we need to do," Ava said suddenly amidst the silence. She couldn't stop staring at the image below her, the mountain of scarlet roses resting atop the gleaming coffin.

Fred suddenly relaxed, stopped pulling on her, and George and Angelina leaned around the side to look, still huddling together beneath the umbrella and staring at her.

"I know what we need to do," she repeated, her voice trembling just a bit, but getting stronger by the second. "I didn't want to say it. I didn't want to think about it, either. There's been so much fucking death I can't even believe I want to think about more." She paused, only for a moment, to inhale and exhale deeply. A strong wind rippled through the tent, the spokes planted in the mud threatening to uproot. "But after what Fox told me...after what she did...after this..." She gulped, the unpleasant sensation of a golfball being lodged in her throat apparent. The crowd of black-robed strangers must have given up on waiting for them to move. They pressed in around the four of them, swarming around Rita's grave.

"What are you saying, Ava?" Fred asked softly. But his eyes, those golden brown, maple syrup eyes, were trained on hers, and they said he already knew.

Behind him, George and Angelina continued staring at her intently. No one said a word. They wanted to hear her say it.

In the fraction of a second that it took for Ava to blink, she saw it again: Fox's blade being dragged across Rita's throat and Rita's eyes, rolling into the back of her head as her blood poured out on to Fox's arm, the light in them going out like a candle's flame being extinguished.

Fox's voice—flat, emotionless—echoed in her head.

"_There's no saving me...it's over."_

She took a deep breath, the air cold in her mouth.

"We're going to kill Fox."


	36. Chapter 36--Knox

**A/N: Hey all, thank you so much for bearing with me, I'm sorry for the slow update. I noticed I got a good handful of new followers in the meantime, I'd love to see some of the newcomer's thoughts in a review!**

**Only 5 chapters left after this, and the epilogue. Are you ready?**

**Chapter 36—Knox**

In October, Ginny Weasley traveled through the Floo and stumbled into the flat above her brothers' shop. Stumbled, because upon her exit from the fire, straightening up from being crouched beneath the mantle—she immediately walked into something around knee-height and heavy. It slammed into the already weathered looking hardwood floors and made a sound like it was rolling away; Ginny didn't bother looking where because her eyes were scrunched up tightly as tears bit from behind her lids. She hopped around on one foot, clutching her shin and swearing.

"What was that?" Fred's voice suddenly appeared. It sounded alarmed as it floated from the direction of the bedroom, down the hallway, across the foyer, through the adjoined kitchen and dining area and into the sitting room where Ginny remained holding her leg and bounding around like some sort of uneven jackrabbit.

She could hear Ava responding, but couldn't quite make out her words. She was murmuring back to Fred, speaking in soothing, hushed tones.

Finally, the pain from her shin faded away, and Ginny caught her breath. She gingerly set her foot back down on the ground, already dreading the image of the purple bruise that would surely be appearing.

And then, after a second-long rush of heat, someone promptly slammed into her back. Then came another rush—two someones.

"Argh!" Ginny careened into the worn loveseat, her toe making contact with the discarded heavy thing and kicking it away further.

"Whoops—sorry Gin—"

"Blimey, what were you standing right there for?"

"_I only...just...arrived,"_ she retorted through gritted teeth, turning slowly on the spot to look at the amused faces of Bill and Charlie.

Fred's voice from down the hall rose in alarm again, and Ginny heard the vague sound of sheets rustling, accompanied by the squeaking of a mattress. Just like moments before, it was soon accompanied by Ava's voice, saying something back to him. She carried the same tone as her mother did sometimes—when the house was in hysterics and she would insist that everything would be alright.

"Do you know what's going on?" Charlie asked his siblings in a low voice, quickly looking over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom and back again. "Bit of an odd invitation I got." He patted his breast pocket, where the outline of a small square of parchment pressed against the fabric.

Bill shrugged. "I got the same," he replied in the same quiet tone.

"Same," Ginny whispered back with a single nod. She could only assume they'd all received the same owl message; delivered yesterday, and nothing but a single sentence in Ava's writing on a neatly torn section of parchment:

_'Come by the flat tomorrow at noon. Fred needs you.'_

"Didn't sound like an Order meeting summons, did it?" Bill asked.

Charlie shook his head, but he was staring at Ginny, frowning thoughtfully. "What is that, Gin?"

Ginny's head was hanging; she'd finally wandered her eyes over to the bottom of the loveseat that she'd crashed into. She'd spotted the heavy thing that had tripped her upon her arrival—it was a small but solid looking wooden statue, depicting three monkeys crouched in a stack upon one another's shoulders. The top monkey held its ears, the second had a hand covering its eyes, and the third, on the bottom, had both hands clamped over its mouth.

"Dunno," she muttered back. "Walked into the ugly thing when I arrived." She nudged it with her foot, sending it rolling just another few inches and tucking it fully under the couch in the hopes of no one else injuring themselves from it lying around.

Her attention left the statue to look between her brothers, over their shoulders and down the hall from where Fred's and Ava's voices had come from.

"Do you think this is about..." she trailed off, her voice barely a whisper, and looked back and forth at her brothers' faces. "Do you think this is about what happened?"

By all definitions, it was an absurdly vague sounding question she'd asked, but it was no secret what she was referring to. Bill and Charlie exchanged glances and awkwardly shrugged back at her; they had, of course, immediately understood.

The news that the girl called Fox had resurfaced had alarmed them, the account of Rita Skeeter's death had disturbed them, but the story of what had happened after—the uncontrollable blaze of fire that had reportedly streamed right from Ava's fingertips—had floored them.

George and Angelina had come by the Burrow after the burial, oddly somber. It was too awkward of an atmosphere to have been driven solely by Rita's death—it was horrific, by all means, but as awful as it sounded, no one in the Weasley family would miss her very much.

Ginny, ever the pushy one, had finally forced George to cough it up; Ava had told Fred, and Fred had told him. And everything Fox had told Ava was then delivered via George, still avoiding her eyes.

The truth about Project Merryweather—that it was started as a program to give military officers' Squib children magical abilities, and after being closed down post Ava's escape, was taken over and exploited by Gridgeon in an attempt to form an uprising of those with underprivileged magical blood—wasn't necessarily surprising. All clues and anecdotes had pointed to something like that being the truth. By the time George was done talking, everyone who'd been present in the home or on the property was squished into the room, aptly listening and asking George to go over again what they'd missed.

By the time George had finished his sixth and final re-telling of the facts, he looked utterly spent. But growing up with six brothers had made Ginny nosy, crafty, and inherently perceptive—George knew something else; there was a secret in his eyes, slumping down on his shoulders. So Ginny did what she did best: she pushed and poked and prodded.

"You know what? Fine," George had sighed, throwing his hands up in the air in surrender. "They didn't really want me talking about it...not until they'd figured it out themselves...knew it would cause some kind of shitstorm...but seeing as how your middle name is Obtrusive..." He paused his exasperated rambling to pointedly scowl at Ginny. "It's...Ava. She's...done something," he finished pathetically.

The room had been silent save for the dripping of the kitchen sink as everyones' eyes bored into him, waiting for more. Finally, Hermione had delicately cleared her throat to speak.

"Something...bad?" she asked, looking just as puzzled as everyone else.

"Something...odd," George had offered back. Sensing that clearly wasn't an acceptable answer, he folded, and the story of the flames from Ava's hands was revealed.

That was two weeks ago, but Ginny was shaken back into present time as Bill's voice finally answered her.

"Maybe they've figured out how she did it," he whispered.

"She had to have gotten blood in her mouth again," Charlie whispered back. "It explained what happened on the island. Maybe when Fox cut Rita...?"

Ginny shook her head. "Ava told the twins she didn't get any of Rita's blood on her. The island was different, she used the gun on the soldier and his blood was splattered on her face and into her mouth."

"Maybe she just didn't realize it again," Charlie said with a shrug.

"Doubtful," replied Ginny.

"Hey," said a voice.

The three sibling whirled around, startled at the sudden voice.

"Ava!" Ginny sighed, sweeping past her brothers and heading for the hallway entrance, where Ava stood leaning against the wall. "I...we...how are you? Are...are you alright?"

Ginny quite literally stopped in her tracks halfway towards her. She looked...different. She wore a long bathrobe over roomy sweatpants. Her normally shiny platinum hair was knotted into a frizzy bun atop her head, and dark rings encircled her eyes, blaring through the paleness of her skin. Her lips looked dry and chapped, but her weary looking appearance wasn't stopping them from curving into an amused sort of smile, and her posture was straight and her eyes bright as she leaned against the hallway arch.

"I'm fine," she said in an eerily calm and soft voice. "Fred needs you, not me, remember?"

"I know...you just look kind of..." Ginny trailed off and peered over her shoulder at her brothers, silently begging them for rescue from the awkward exchange.

"Spent," Charlie offered with a grimace.

Ava retained her strange poker face. "We haven't been sleeping well. Come on." She nodded her head in the direction of the bedroom, turned on her heel, and lead the way for the three of them to follow.

As the hem of Ava's robe whipped around the doorway, Ginny shot one last curious look to her brothers before entering in after her. The first thing she noticed about the room was that it was dark—if Ginny hadn't already been awake and outside for the day, she would have guessed it was night time. Thick curtains dressed the windows, and only a couple of candles placed in various spots around the room emitted soft, flickering light.

The second thing she noticed was the smell—not foul by any means, but incredibly stuffy, stagnant; it reminded her of the way someone's skin smelled after being outside for hours during a long, sticky summer day.

Ava was settling herself gently on the edge of the bed, leaning over someone whose legs Ginny could see forming shapes under the blankets. She squinted through the darkness and took a couple of cautious steps into the bedroom further.

"Fred?" Ginny called in a small voice.

The legs under the blankets stirred slightly, immediately accompanied by a gasp of pain she knew belonged to her brother. She hurried over, abandoning all discretion.

Her heart sank in her chest as she took in his appearance through the dim light. He was shirtless; the old, whitened scars from his injury during the wall collapse at Hogwarts standing out clearly against his skin with the twinkling of the candlelight. A thin layer of sweat bathed his entire torso and arms, but his face appeared with the most perspiration; it was positively soaked and shining. His hair was mussed and damp at the roots as well, and although Ava clutched his hands tightly in hers on her lap, Ginny could see they were visibly shaking with violent tremors. Purple Dinwiddle blossoms spilling from an open leather pouch were scattered across the bedside table.

"_Fred!_ What happened, mate?" Bill demanded in alarm. He and Charlie were standing right over her shoulder now, staring down at their brother in horror.

Movement stirred through the darkness in the corner of the room. George startled everyone as he stood up from a previously unnoticed chair in the corner.

"Nothing happened," he said, his voice somewhat defensive as he moved to stand at the foot of the bed. "It's just...happening. It happens, once in a while." George's eyes flickered to his twin's, and Fred let out a little moan as he squeezed his own shut tightly.

Ginny couldn't tell whether the moan sounded like it was birthed from physical pain or mental anguish. Ron's words from the kitchen brawl months ago came floating back to her: _"He suffers from chronic debilitating pain...he lays in bed for days on end, unable to move."_

"It's one of the episodes, isn't it?" Ginny asked softly. "Where the magic holding him together begins to fall apart...because of exertion..."

"Bloody hell, I didn't know it was that bad for him," Bill whispered.

Everyone in the room jumped as Fred's voice suddenly rang out.

"_Alright_...enough already with this 'him' business...I'm right here!" Fred's eyes had snapped open, and although he was throwing his head back and gritting his teeth in pain, he was sliding himself backward and propping himself up until his shoulders and head rested against the headboard behind him. He panted heavily for a few seconds before speaking again. "And I'm just temporarily pathetic, I'm not bloody dying!" His mouth hitched up into what was supposed to be a grin.

Ginny and the others stared at him in a dumbfounded silence.

Fred rolled his eyes. "Well, for fuck's sake, _laugh_."

They remained in an awkward, strained silence, and Ava looked up at them from her perch upon the bedside.

"I don't think it's ever been this bad before," she whispered.

"It hasn't," Fred chimed in from over her shoulder.

Ava grimaced. "It's my fault," she continued.

"It's bloody _not!_" Fred's voice objected hotly from behind her again.

"Your fault?" Charlie addressed Ava, frowning curiously. "These are his after effects from the Battle. How could it be your fault?"

Before Ava could answer, Fred's hand appeared on her arm, nudging her to the side slightly so his head came back into view.

"Because," Fred panted, and his voice was suddenly goofy sounding. "Nobody here's slept in days. She's been up all night doing bloody magic, making things bloody explode, so we've been up all bloody night with her chasing her around with bloody counter-spells and cracking open bloody books to try and figure out how to make it bloody stop."

Now everyone in the room's attention was back on Fred, their eyes bulging as he suddenly went limp and slumped down, his eyes closing sleepily.

"Is he...alright?" Ginny whispered as soft as she could, looking back and forth between George and Ava.

"It's really bad this time," George whispered back.

"He's been getting delirious," Ava added, looking down at him sadly. "I've been trying to help him like I did last time...take his pain away...but it's not working, I'm just not strong enough. Trying is making me...ill."

"What can we do?" Bill asked.

George and Ava exchanged looks.

"Honestly," George said, his voice low as he glanced at his sleeping twin, "we need some relief shifts. Ava's been in here taking care of Fred, and I've been in here taking care of Ava."

"Taking care?" Ginny asked, giving Ava another brief once-over. "What's wrong with you?" she asked her directly.

Ava sighed heavily. "This," she responded, and delicately reached over Fred to grasp on to one of the spare pillows. As soon as her fingers clasped it, the pillow more or less exploded, showering the entire room with feathers and bits of cloth.

Fred jerked suddenly, stirring in his sleep.

"_Don't trade me no applesauce for a kick in the bum,"_ he muttered deliriously, and his head lolled over as he passed out again, a halo of feathers gathered around his sweaty head.

Ginny, Bill, and Charlie remained in a stunned silence for a few moments while Ava and George casually brushed the feathers off of themselves, clearly unsurprised.

"So...you're still doing magic? Since the alleyway?" Ginny asked, one hand fishing around down her shirt to find the rest of the feathers.

"She can't even feed herself," George said, smirking down at Ava. Now that Ginny was paying attention for it, she noticed George's dark circles around his eyes matching Ava's. "Touches a plate and it shatters. I've been spoon feeding her..._like a wittle baby bird_." He reached out and roughly rubbed his fist into Ava's scalp teasingly, and she swung her arm out behind her in an attempt to swat him away.

"That's some pretty impressive magic," said Bill, his twitching mouth fighting a smile. "I think the last time I saw stuff like that was when Ginny was only a toddler and showing signs, blowing up everything she touched if she didn't get her way about something..." He trailed off laughing as Ginny sharply elbowed him in the ribs.

"I don't understand," said Charlie to Ava. "If you're a Squib, then you'd do magic if you got magical blood in your mouth, right? Like how Gridgeon and Fox must be drinking it. So unless you're biting into Fred's veins and sucking his blood every few minutes, why is this happening?"

Silence answered him as George and Ava looked back at him helplessly, but Ginny couldn't help but notice: George's hand twitched for a moment before curling into a fist and releasing, and Ava's blank poker face had returned.

"We don't know," George said shortly. "Point is, I'd like to go home and see my wife for a bit, bathing seems like the right choice as well seeing as how I smell like a Niffler's ass, someone needs to stay with Fred and make sure he doesn't overdose on Dinwiddles and die, and someone needs to stay with Ava to make sure she doesn't accidentally kill us all." He held his arms out. "We've got a few more coming, but any volunteers for now?"

"I'll stay with Fred," said Charlie.

"I'll go run a bath for him...we'll carry him into the tub," offered Bill.

"I'll take Ava," said Ginny, and Ava nodded to her in embarrassed gratitude, rising to her feet from the bed.

George was hurriedly pushing his feet into shoes. "By the way...what was that crashing sound when you first arrived?"

"Oh," Ginny said, grinning sheepishly at him. "That was me. I walked into that hideous little statue you had sitting next to the fire poker. What is that thing anyway?"

"That's the flat's Floo totem," George answered hurriedly, now pulling on a jumper over his t-shirt. "Can't have all the evil beasties using the place as a rest stop now can we?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "_That's_ your Floo totem? Why cant you use something normal, for decoration? Like Mum, she's always used Grandmom's old porcelain vase—"

"That trio of monkeys you got there...'hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil'?" Charlie said with a laugh, shaking his head at George. "You made the protection totem oddly literal, didn't you?"

"Fred and me picked it up at a Muggle thrift shop years ago. Grew on us so we charmed it to be the totem. Point is," he looked over at Ginny, "Make sure it _goes back_ before you leave. It's got to be touching some part of the hearth to actually work, you know that, right?"

"George," said Bill with a laugh in his voice. "I'm impressed. What's it like to actually be responsible?"

George scowled at him. "A lot of bloody work," he muttered grumpily, and Disapparated.

* * *

An hour or so later, Fred had been bathed by Bill and Charlie, and was put back to bed to rest—this time, although still fragile—coherent. Ginny could hear his occasional laugh and weak voice coming from the bedroom, where Ron had joined in to keep company as well.

She was in the kitchen, standing over bacon and eggs cooking on the stove, stealing frequent glances over her shoulder at Ava. She was seated on one of the kitchen island bar stools, her head resting on the countertop.

"Y'all don't have a _toaster_?"

Ginny turned with a single arched eyebrow, and glared at Dakota. He was on all fours and rummaging through the low cabinets.

"I am the toaster," she said dryly as Dakota got to his feet. "Hermione, pass me that bread."

Hermione, who'd been sitting on a stool beside Ava, slid the loaf across the counter.

"Observe," said Ginny, and turned her back on the sizzling bacon to touch her wand to a bread slice.

Dakota's eyes grew wide as the bread toasted a perfect golden brown.

"Behold. Toast." Ginny slid the toast over to Dakota, who generously buttered it before biting into it savagely.

"You," he grunted thickly through a mouthful. "You're er beft!"

"Whose breast?" Ginny asked innocently, turning her attention back to the stove.

Dakota gulped. "You're the best," he corrected himself.

Hermione was eyeing him. "Why are you in here?" she finally spoke up and asked. "You're supposed to be in there." She gestured down the hall. "Keeping Fred company and lifting his spirits with the others. You were asked to do that because you're his _friend_."

Dakota stared blankly at her before jabbing his finger at the bacon and eggs in progress. "I'm on breakfast duty, baby. Once these puppies are all finished I'm bringin' 'em right in. I'll even hand feed Fred myself, if you like."

"I'll hold you to that!" Fred's voice hoarsely called out from the bedroom, and everyone laughed.

Well, everyone except Ava, that is. She appeared to be fast asleep, her face still buried in her arms on the countertop and her back rising and falling evenly with deep breaths.

Dakota studied her for a moment before grabbing a fresh slice of bread.

"Ava," he said loudly. "Toast this for me. You're all into the pyrotechnics now, aren't ya?"

And then he made a mistake.

"Dakota don't—" Hermione started, but it was too late. He'd tossed the bread teasingly straight at her head, and it bounced off of her hair, and on to the top of her hand.

Ava awoke with a panicked yelp, sitting up quickly, and retracted both of her arms from the countertop. But it was too late—the bread slice had made contact with her hands, and she, Hermione, Ginny, and Dakota all watched in awe as the bread liquified before their eyes. It looked like it was melting in fast motion, dissolving into a small, thick puddle of beige colored liquid.

"Good Lord, woman, that is highly unnatural." Dakota was the first to speak, dramatically contorting his face to look as disgusted as possible. "You best figure that one out. God willin' and the creek don't rise." He accepted the large platter of bacon and eggs Ginny tipped from the pan, and shot the puddle of liquified bread one last horrified look before grabbing a handful of cutlery and disappearing down the hall.

"Sometimes I really feel like he's speaking a foreign language," Ginny murmured, shaking her head to herself as she cracked more eggs.

Ava had scooted her stool back and her arms were tucked fully into her bathrobe sleeves, determined not to make physical contact with anything else. Hermione, however, was extremely interested in the bread-puddle, leaning over it so closely her nose nearly touched it.

"Ava," she said. "This is a highly advanced Liquifying Charm. A lot of practicing witches and wizards can't even do this properly, how are you—"

But she suddenly paused, as Ava jumped up from her seat and bolted to the other side of the kitchen, throwing herself on the ground and sticking her head into the wastebasket. Retching sounds ensued from within the plastic walls.

"Oh, come on!" Ginny cried out exasperatedly, tapping the stove with her wand hurriedly and ceasing her cooking. "It's not a big deal, it's just liquified bread! It's just—" But she followed in Hermione's wake of stopping short, and then, as Ava continued gagging into the garbage, she couldn't take her eyes off of her clever, bushy-haired sister-in-law...Hermione was staring at Ava in a peculiar way; a way Ginny could tell she was thinking about something, hell, she could practically see the cogs moving within her skull...

Ginny didn't know who to look at more, Hermione or Ava; she found herself wagging her head back and forth to look at the two of them, trying to piece together whatever Hermione was already in the process of figuring out.

Ava appeared to finally finish, taking several deep, shaking breaths, and crawling away from the wastebasket. Her skin had a sickly grey pallor to it.

"Come on, get up, there you go," Hermione encouraged in a soothing voice as she helped Ava to her feet. She handed Ava a napkin, and patiently waited for her to mop her face.

"We need to talk," she said quietly, and grabbed Ava's large terrycloth sleeve. "Let's go." And then she bolted, quickly but gracefully leading Ava towards the foyer and out the apartment door.

"Oh, I am not missing this," Ginny muttered, double checked the stove's flame was gone, and hurried after the two of them.

Hermione was hurriedly tugging a confused and barefoot Ava down the canary yellow and cobalt blue staircase, descending into the incredibly busy looking shop floor below. Ginny followed, ignoring the stares from curious onlookers as the three of them dashed through the crowd.

"Hey, Hermione...Ginny...Ava? I mean, Meredith! What are you all doing here?" Lee's voice called out to them, saying each of their names with increasing bewilderment. He was stationed behind the swamped register, clutching a rubber chicken in one hand and a fistful of silver Sickles in the other.

Hermione ignored him as well, making a beeline straight towards the door to the inventory closet against the back wall. Ginny took to saying 'excuse me' and 'pardon me' in a patterned, repetitive fashion as she danced around scowling customers that she pushed by.

Hermione yanked open the closet door, gently shoving Ava inside first, then following.

"Close the door," she said to Ginny shortly, who squeezed in after them.

Ginny swung the door shut with a horrible squeaking noise coming from the hinges, and they were plunged into total darkness.

"Lumos," Hermione muttered, and Ginny copied her, their wands acting as torches in the pitch-blackness.

"Tell me what's going on," Ginny prodded Hermione excitedly. "Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me—"

"Ava," Hermione interjected, swinging her wand light around to shine in her direction. "Do you know? Does Fred know? If you didn't know and I was the one to tell you, that would be awfully strange..."

"_Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me—"_

"Enough Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, shoving her slightly.

Ginny stumbled backwards into a few boxes that curiously let out a few screech-like squeaks, but she was too enthralled by what was happening before her to care. Hermione had more or less cornered Ava, her head cocked to one side and frowning thoughtfully. Ava had tightly tucked herself into the corner of the stocked shelving, still concealing her hands in her enormous robe sleeves. Her pale blonde hair had halfway fallen out of it's messy topknot, and strands were haphazardly sticking in all directions. She looked like a madwoman, but Hermione was patiently waiting for her to answer.

"I do," Ava finally said back in a small voice. "But only two days ago. Fred doesn't. George knows. I told him, I had to."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, and Ginny reached the end of her patience.

"You two are irritating the piss out of me, _what the fuck are you going on about?!_"

Hermione whirled around to face her, but Ava responded first.

"Ginny!" she cried exasperatedly, and threw her hands up, letting them fall against her legs. "I'm a Squib."

"I know that, George's told me—"

"I can only do magic with magical blood."

"Yes, I know that, but you haven't been—"

"I'm not drinking it," Ava said quietly. She exchanged a desperate glance with Hermione before continuing. "It's in my veins now."

Ginny stared at her blankly for a few moments. "What do you—OH!" she nearly screamed, and just then, the closet door swung open.

All three girls nearly fell over, crying out in shock and protest as their formerly dark space was flooded with what seemed like blinding light coming from the shop floor. Lee stood in the doorway, his mouth parted in surprise.

"Whatever you three are doing, I don't even care," he said, snapping back to attention. "I need some more Headless Hats and trick wands and Dragon Bum, you could go back to your girly closet time later...actually..." He straightened up, putting his hands on his hips and smirking. "Can I join?"

"OUT, LEE!" Ginny roared, tearing as many various products as she could down from the shelves, thrusting them into his arms, and kicking the door shut, plunging them into near-darkness again.

"Oh, _Merlin_," Ginny cooed, turning back to Ava. "Ooh, I'm _so_ excited. This is brilliant. That's why you're doing magic, is it? How far along are you, do you know? Hey, do you think...oh...oh, you're not excited, are you?" Ginny could practically feel herself deflating; Ava was staring back at her hopelessly, her arms folded across her chest tightly.

"It's been a little over 8 weeks since I had my...you know," she said, looking at Ginny uncomfortably. "Took me long enough to realize it. I'm an idiot, you know that?" She chewed on the inside of her cheek and stared absentmindedly at the shelving for a moment. "I got ill, like really ill, in August after drinking...remember that morning at the Ministry?" She asked Hermione, who nodded. "I just thought it was a bad hangover, I dunno...and then the vertigo...that started a couple weeks ago...it all came together the other day when I thought about it, but I don't know why the magic suddenly started that night with Fox..."

"You said you're around eight weeks?" Hermione asked gently. "That night was two weeks ago. That would explain it, then. When I was about six weeks with Rose, my magic started going totally haywire...you know the Healer's said it was because she had a heartbeat," she said with a smile.

"No!" Ginny exclaimed in disbelief, but Hermione nodded at her. She took a few seconds before addressing Ava again. "Why did you tell George and not Fred?"

Ava rubbed her face in her hands before responding. "Does Fred really seem like he's in the best state of mind right now to be hearing that kind of news?"

"Oh...no, no I suppose you're right," Ginny admitted. "I have to admit I'm impressed about George keeping it a secret for you though...he used to go around telling us about every bowel movement he had like it was national news..."

The tension in the closet was broken, then, as all three girls dissolved into sudden, ridiculous laughter.

"But...but come on, Ava," Ginny said after recovering herself from giggles. "Even if you have to keep it quiet just for now, when Fred's well again you can tell him...he'll be so excited, really, now that George has moved out he definitely needs a playmate," she added with a snort.

Ava gave her a dark look. "You know who else will be super excited? Fox. And Gridgeon, yeah, remember him? He's surely already raising Sarah's son to be part of his little army, ooh, he'll have a field day when he hears about this."

"Well, we won't let him hear about it, will we Ginny?" Hermione said calmly, glancing sideways at her. "That's what you're worried about, is it? No one's going to hurt you now, the whole family will protect you."

"That's right," Ginny agreed, but Ava continued looking hopeless.

"They're crazy," she whispered. "Merciless. How am I supposed to fight them now?"

"You're not," Hermione said quickly. "You leave them to us."

Ava was silent, and even in the dim light, Ginny could see her eyes shining, threatening to spill over with anxious tears.

"It'll be okay...just think about how good of a filthy little liar you are," said Ginny to Ava, smirking. "I asked you once, if you were shagging my brother...you said you weren't, but thing is, I'm old enough now to know where babies come from, and it isn't the stork..."

Ava had a kind of reaction that only she could have—the tears exploded from her eyes, and she doubled over, alternating between sobs and hysterical laughter.

"I...wasn't," she gasped, straightening up. "I mean...I hadn't," she added, blushing.

A few seconds of silence passed.

"Yet," Ginny added with a wide smirk.

Hermione took Ava's hands in hers gently. "Fred loves you. Talk to him."

Ava stared back at her, the picture of uncertainty. She opened her mouth to say something, and then abruptly closed it.

Hermione squeezed her hands. "Talk to him."

* * *

"Would you _stop_ staring at me like that?"

Fred opened his mouth to answer, but was abruptly silenced by Ava covering his face with a warm, dripping wet washcloth. She placed both of her hands gently on his cheeks, pressing the cloth to his skin, and then slowly wiped it away. Tiny beads of moisture stuck to the scruffy, dark ginger beginnings of a beard growing along his jaw.

Fred pressed his lips together, looking like he was forcing himself to contain some kind of fantastic and happy secret. As per usual, his mood was contagious, and Ava couldn't help but smile back as she lathered on a generous layer of shaving cream; Fred still blinked up at her, his gaze traveling from her hair to her eyes to her lips, some form of fondness twinkling in his eyes.

Ava rinsed her hands off in the sink when she was done, and turned back around to face him.

"Whatever goofy thing is brewing in that brain of yours, hold it in until I'm done. Or else I'll cut you." She held up the shaving razor and grinned. "Literally. Will you stay still?"

Fred, looking up at her, wiggled his eyebrows and gave a single, minute nod.

"Good. Chin up." Ava perched herself on the edge of the clawfoot tub alongside him, and placed one hand on the side of his neck, the other, touching the razor to his cheek and dragging it down firmly. Hair and cream collected beneath the razor, leaving a smooth strip of skin in its wake.

It had been four days since everyones' visit to the flat. That day was, thankfully, Fred's worst; by the end of that evening his fever finally broke and his heart rate slowed, the pain fading away. Ava had finally felt relieved enough to relax and get some sleep, and the two of them had dissolved into a deep, long slumber. When they woke up together thirteen hours later, they'd been renewed—Fred's aches and pains had melted away, and Ava was enjoying a newfound clarity and serenity, no longer wreaking magical havoc with her touch. She concentrated on staying rested and staying calm; she realized every time panic or stress rose and tightened in her chest, a trigger would activate and she'd begin doing uncontrollable magic again.

Fred, still weak and stiff but recovering quickly, remained mystified and intrigued. He was convinced Fox had done something to her, some kind of unheard of curse or jinx, and wouldn't stop talking about it. He had a lot of questions he wondered aloud: how she'd done it, if she'd intentionally done it, and how long it would last.

Ava's insides would squirm uncomfortably with guilt as she realized she had all of those answers: Fox hadn't done anything, the result was...unintentional, and it would last, oh, about another seven months.

She wasn't quite sure why she hadn't told him yet. Perhaps she was waiting for some kind of elusively 'perfect' moment that she realistically knew would most likely never appear; or perhaps she was thinking about the absurdity of it all—six months ago they'd said their first words to one another, and now she was supposed to tell him she was two months into carrying his child, it shouldn't come as a huge shock, really, they'd never done anything to_ prevent_ this sort of thing from happening—

"Ouch," Fred murmured, reflexively jerking his head away slightly. A small spot of blood began blossoming across the side of his neck; Ava had cut him on the very last stroke, lost in her own thoughts.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" She jumped up and quickly passed him the washcloth, which he pressed against his neck with one end, and with the other, wiped the small remnants of shaving cream from his now-smooth face.

Fred grinned up at her. "I hate to break it to you, but I think your hopes and dreams of becoming a world-famous barber end here. Customers won't take kindly to—are you going to be sick?" He'd stopped his teasing abruptly, looking up at her in horror, still holding the red-stained cloth to his neck.

Maybe she was—Ava could feel something bubbling up and pushing against her throat, her gag reflex twitching; the longer she stared at Fred, the more slack-jawed she felt herself becoming. She was now sort of gaping at him, her mouth wide open like she was attempting to catch butterflies with it.

Fred leaned over and slammed open the toilet lid for her, and she sunk to her knees, crawling over to the toilet's edge. She found herself staring past it, part of her gaze fixed upon the porcelain base and the other part absentmindedly staring at Fred's large, bony feet, settled on the weathered wood floor. Something in her throat pushed again, and she heard Fred sigh. One of his hands settled down upon her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"Look, I know the sight of blood right now probably isn't something you want to see. After what you saw happen to Rita...I know how you're feeling. After the Battle, even the slam of a door was enough to send me into a panic attack..."

His words faded momentarily as Ava cringed again, gripping the toilet's edge now. She could still hear the comforting tone of his voice in the background, pausing with occasional sighs and change in inflection. His warm hand remained on her shoulder, his thumb traveling back and forth across the base of her neck.

And then, Ava realized there was no wave of nausea, there was no churning stomach...no, this wasn't real vomit, this was word vomit, and she suddenly became acutely aware of the distinct sensation of not being able to hold in a secret any longer...

"...don't let her win. Don't let her traumatize you like this, don't let her haunt you—"

"I'm pregnant."

It was the first time she'd said it out loud. The moment after she said the words was like that single second-long pause after an orchestra finishes playing something magnificent: when the audience is still sitting there with rapt attention, enjoying every note, and they haven't realized the song is over yet. It comes to a crescendo and suddenly stops, and there's that moment, that breath, teetering on the edge waiting for everyone to explode into applause.

Fred's hand slipped from her shoulder limply.

"What...what was that?"

Ava took a deep, quivering breath, and used all of her courage to stop staring at Fred's feet and look up at him. He had this funny look on his face, somewhere between disbelief and trying not to laugh. His expression said it all; he was thoroughly convinced he'd heard wrong, and was waiting to release a relieved exhale.

"I'm pregnant. It's why I've been doing magic...magical blood inside a Squib, right? I only realized it a week ago..." She paused, hoping to give Fred a moment to process. He was still sitting on the edge of the tub, but staring straight ahead now, his eyes glued to his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. He was watching himself breathe, watching himself blink.

Ava's hand gripped and released the brim of the toilet several times anxiously. "Say something, please."

Fred continued being transfixed by his own reflection, and the agonizing silence was suddenly broken by a roar of flames coming from the direction of the sitting room, and a quick set of footsteps.

"Fred? Ava?" It was George's voice calling out to them. He sounded panicked.

Fred attempted to jump to his feet, but quickly lost his footing upon standing, his legs still weak beneath him. He swayed for a moment, grabbing the sink for balance, before dashing out of the bathroom and down the hall. He didn't even look at her.

"Fred!" Ava cried out, and scrambled to her feet, pulling herself up by the toilet and tub's edges. She rushed out after him, wondering what in the world George was doing here.

He was standing a few paces in front of the fireplace, a streak of soot on his face. He spotted Fred and Ava coming down the hall towards him, and he vaulted himself over the back of the couch to come and meet them.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you on your feet, mate, I thought I'd have to go alone...it's Rudy Zonko, he's just Apparated to his coastal home, it's been deserted for months but the Aurors have been keeping watch...he's there and they're waiting on my orders since I'm Head, I need you there with me..." He trailed off, panting slightly, and his eyebrows contorted into confusion as he took in the still-stunned look upon Fred's face.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked his twin breathlessly. Fred continued standing there, silent and motionless.

Then George's eyes traveled over Fred's shoulder and settled on to Ava. She was lingering at the end of the hall, her shoulder leaning against the archway, clutching her elbows around her middle.

"Oh bloody hell, you've told him, have you?" George moaned.

That was, apparently, what it took to snap Fred out of his state. He sprang to life, straightening up like an electric shock had traveled through his torso, and contorted his face to match his twin's.

"_You_ knew?" He cried out. George stared at him sheepishly for only a second before Fred wheeled around to face Ava. "Why've you gone and told him instead of me?!"

"Fred, I found out while you were still ill, Ginny and Hermione figured it out on their own—"

"_Ginny and Hermione?!"_ He retorted, his face reddening, throwing his arms out at his sides. "Who else then, did the whole fucking Alley know I was a parent before I did?!"

George and Ava's gazes met, as though magnetically; George's face one of ever-growing confusion and Ava's, one of hurt, sharing a common wonder as to why Fred was acting the way he was.

"Why are you looking at each other like that?" Fred yelled, looking back and forth between them, fuming.

Ava hugged her arms against herself tighter. "Please—please stop yelling...Fred..." But then her voice died down, scurrying away in fright like a mouse diving back into its hole. Tears she hadn't even realized were coming spilled down her cheeks.

"Calm down mate, come on, there's no need..." George started, but trailed off as he watched his brother. Fred was on the move again, stomping around the furniture and heading towards the fireplace.

"Where are you going?" George cried as Fred scooped up a handful of Floo powder from the dish atop the mantle. "Fred, I need you, Zonko—"

But his voice was drowned out by the roar of emerald flames. Fred took a single step, determined to not look anywhere but straight ahead, and then he was gone.

George stared at the now-still hearth, momentarily in shock, before turning back to Ava. She was gaping as well, in disbelief at what had just happened. He hadn't shouted at her since...

And then it dawned on her. Fred hadn't shouted at her like that since she'd seen him the very first time suffering in bed, when he'd thrown the papers at her and screamed that he didn't want her there seeing him in that condition. It was when he was feeling his most helpless; when all he wanted to do was be strong, be prideful, but at his most vulnerable against his will, terrified that Ava would think something of him for being so weak.

He was scared.

"I need to go." George sprinted over to her, grabbing her gently by the shoulders. "Ava, I need to go, they're waiting on my orders."

Ava hurriedly wiped the remaining tears away from her cheek with the back of her hand. "Yeah. Yeah, go."

George looked at her desperately. "Fred will be back. He's just...he'll be back. You need to go sit down and take care of my nephew or niece, alright?" He sighed heavily, squeezing her shoulders and crushing a brief kiss to the top of her hair. Then he turned on his heel, sprinting out of the flat to head outside and Disapparate.

And Ava was left alone, the faint smell of ashes lingering in the twins' wake.

* * *

While Gridgeon spent most of his life in his grandfather's shop basement, inventing for him—unbeknownst to the public, of course—Rudolph Zonko enjoyed a life of modest fortune and success. He'd purchased his coastal Cornwall holiday home twelve years ago, and although it was by no means palatial, it was a handsome estate; standing on stilts for protection from floods and designed in the Victorian style, painted in blue and white.

The house had seen better days. The past few months of summer neglect had made it rapidly deteriorate, the blues and whites looking more grey and the sea's saltwater spray sticking to all of the windows in a translucent film. Zonko hadn't been to the home since his disappearance from the shop—Aurors assigned in shifts to keep watch over the property for any sign of life made sure of that.

George Apparated on to the property, hitting the ground running. He could see Ron standing at the top of the front entrance stairs, doing an impatient sort of dance.

"George?" He called out. "Where's Fred?"

George took the stairs two at a time. "Still not feeling one-hundred percent," he quickly lied as he reached the raised porch with his brother. "What's going on?"

Ron swung open one side of the double doors, and the two of them dashed inside, George following Ron's lead as he charged up the winding staircase.

"I was actually the one on watch here today," Ron said over his shoulder, a hint of pride in his voice. "Top floor, through the attic window, there was this sudden burst of light—" he paused as they reached the first landing and galloped down the hall to the next set of stairs "-and he was there, he'd Apparated in. And he was just pacing!"

"Pacing?" George repeated back to him breathlessly.

"Yeah," said Ron, and they reached the top of the stairs. "Come on, attic entrance is over here." They jogged together to the end of the hallway, heading towards a step-ladder that had been pulled down from the ceiling. "Right in front of the window. Like he wanted to be seen."

"That doesn't make any sense," George murmured back, but Ron didn't have a chance to answer as they reached the attic entrance.

Everyone's heads turned briefly to look at him as his head appeared through the hole in the floor. It was quite a scene to behold: scattered around the room were all sorts of normal things one would expect to find in an attic—boxes, clothing racks, large items shrouded in dusty sheets—but directly in the center was a very worn looking Rudolph Zonko, bound to a chair. His formerly bald head wasn't being kept up properly; there were fuzzy little patches of thin silver hair growing unevenly across his flaky scalp, and his long grey beard was wispy and missing chunks as though bits of it had been yanked out.

George clambered to his feet beside Ron and joined the circle of Aurors surrounding Zonko, their wands pointed directly at him. Harry and Kingsley were there, but the other two, he didn't recognize.

"What's wrong with him?" George asked aloud. Zonko looked like every breath he took was agonizing, and his eyes were rolling in his head intermittently, like it was hard for him to keep them open.

"We believe he has been being controlled by the Imperius Curse," replied Kingsley.

"Right," George muttered back. "It's just he seems a little..." He trailed off for a moment as he watched Zonko's head dip rapidly, then catch himself, like he was fighting sleep. "Far off."

"Indeed," said Kingsley, still not taking his gaze away from the old man. "But he's come on his own accord. Submitted without resistance, willingly surrendered his wand."

George took a few cautious steps forward, the old attic floorboards creaking beneath his shoes. "Why have you come here?" he asked, speaking loudly and clearly.

Zonko's watery blue eyes very slowly raised, and settled upon George's face. A vague sense of recognition passed over his features.

"I've taken..._him_," he gasped, and slowly jutted his chin out towards the corner.

The tall, sandy-haired Auror standing at the end of his gaze spun around briefly to see if there was anyone else standing behind him. "Taken me?" he cried out in confusion. "He's a madman!"

"I've...taken...him," Zonko continued, his breath rattling in his chest. "It's...the only...way...to draw him out."

George looked over his shoulder to see if anyone had any idea what was going on, but although their wands remained pointed and steady, their faces wore the same expression as his: total and utter confusion.

George turned back and crouched down in an attempt to be at more eye-level with Zonko. "Draw who out?" he whispered.

"I've been...bad...I've been...wrong...I used him...the boy...the Squib..." Even in its breathless, pathetic state, Zonko's voice had taken on a tone of desperation, a tone of pleading.

"Gridgeon," George said with a nod. "We know about that, we saw his room in the shop basement, we know he's the one who invented for you."

"I've been...wrong," Zonko repeated. "Turned him...into a monster...made him hungry...for power...my fault...all my fault..."

"You've taken Gridgeon?"

"I've taken him...he started doing magic...the boy's crowning jewel..." Zonko trailed off to let out a soft but insane sounding laugh. "I've taken him...to draw him out...you have...to stop him..."

George exchanged glances with Harry, who was standing to his left. Harry shrugged back at him, just as lost as everyone else.

"Yes, Gridgeon's been doing magic, with the blood—" George started, but Zonko suddenly erupted in anger, as much as he could manage to while still bound to the chair.

"_NOT...THAT ONE,"_ he hissed, his eyes bulging. "The _other_ boy!"

"He's gone mad," Kingsley said evenly. "We are getting nowhere. We should transport him to St. Mungo's, as a prisoner, wait to interrogate him until he is more sound of mind."

The shuffling of footsteps surrounded George as the Aurors closed in, ready to take Zonko away.

"Wait!" George cried, jumping to his feet. He whirled around to look at the corner the blonde Auror had been standing in previously, and his eyes fell upon what looked like an enormous wardrobe, half-covered in a white sheet, it's wooden-clawed bottom sticking out from beneath the cover. The sheet was placed differently than the others on the surrounding furniture; it was lopsided, and had creases in places other than where the corners of the wood jutted out.

"Rudolph," George said slowly, turning his head to look at the old man over his shoulder. "Is there someone in that wardrobe?"

A weak smile that managed to look both relieved and maniacal crossed over Zonko's features. "Name's Knox," he whispered. Then, his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he lost consciousness.

"Brinley...Radisson," Kingsley called out, addressing the sandy-haired Auror and another, a petite, hooded witch. "Take him to St. Mungo's for medical attention. I will meet you there with instructions."

George could hear behind him the sounds of the Aurors untying Zonko from the chair and carrying him from the room, but he didn't dare take his gaze away from the wardrobe. It was silent and unmoving as he took slow, careful steps towards it, drawing his wand out in the process.

"Easy there, Weasley," Kingsley said softly, joining his side and matching his wary pace. "Everyone...wands at the ready...Gridgeon could be in there with a sack full of Acid Bombs for all we know, ready to bring the place down..."

George gulped as a vision of the room exploding in a fiery blast crossed his mind. His grip on his wand tightened.

"One," Kingsley counted, "Two..." He flicked his wand, and the doors sprang open, the mouth of the wardrobe obscured for a moment as the sheet came tumbling down.

A small cry of fear emitted from the inside.

There was, in fact, someone hidden inside the wardrobe.

But it wasn't Gridgeon.

* * *

"_Um...what are you doing?"_

"_I was...making sure you were okay."_

"_In the shower?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_What could have possibly happened to me in the shower?"_

"_Dunno. You could've drowned, I suppose."_

And then that kiss...it had changed everything...

The moment was five months old, but it felt like a lifetime ago as the memory weaved its way in and out of Ava's mind as she showered back at the flat. No, not just a lifetime ago; it seemed like a whole different life, someone else's life. She'd freshly discovered the death of her parents, she was still unable to leave the Treehouse as she liked due to the Order's lack of trust, she still hadn't even told them the truth...well, what, at the time, she _thought_ was the truth, about Merryweather...she'd thought they were lab rats for government agents to practice their magic on, when in reality, they were being trained to _be_ the government agents, without even knowing it...

Fred had told her awhile ago what the portrait of the Headmaster had informed them: _'They were looking to create super-spies, if you will.' _Ava nearly laughed aloud and leaned back into the spray to rinse her hair as an absurd vision of her cocking a gun in sunglasses and a beret blossomed into her thoughts.

And then something sad in her chest pulsed. _Fred had told her._ Fred...where had he gone?

Ava switched off the water and yanked away the curtain surrounding the clawfoot tub, pulling a towel from the rack and wrapping it around her torso, wincing slightly. She'd suddenly become hyper-aware of the tiny life inside of her and what it was already doing to her body; the mere pressure of the towel was enough to make her breasts ache.

She sighed heavily as she stepped out from the tub, her toes buried deep in the warm plush bath mat. The loose floorboard concealing the box of Vita flasks clunked beneath her feet.

_Idiot,_ she thought crossly, wrapping her hair around her hands and squeezing it into the tub. _He's gone and left me...US, when we need him the most...I would have never done that..._

_Ahh, _said a small voice in the back of her head in return, _But you have, you did! The day of the shop opening, when George and Dakota had to come catch you like a wild animal streaking through the forest, remember?_

_That was different, _she mentally argued back, frowning at the imaginary debate happening inside of her head. _I was doing that to protect him..._

_And who said he's not doing the same for you? _The opposing voice chided. If it had a face, it would be smirking.

Ava paused suddenly, realizing her arm was very much dry already, and she'd been vigorously rubbing it with the towel raw.

"Shut up already," she actually murmured out loud, and let the towel drop to the ground as she reached for her bathrobe.

"Ava!" came a loud voice from down the hall. She heard the fireplace cracking, and several sets of footsteps following.

Was it Fred? Ava stood frozen for a moment, buck naked and her arm extended before her, her fingers still brushing the edge of her robe on the door hook.

"Maybe she's not home," the voice said exasperatedly.

It was George's voice.

"I'm—I'm here!" she yelled back, scrambling to pull on her robe and tie it around the waist. "I'm here!" She completely forgot that there had been several sets of feet entering the flat as she rushed out into the hall and stumbled into the foyer, gasping in embarrassment and wrenching the robe tighter around her chest.

Kingsley, Ron, and Harry stood milling around the sitting room, staring at her with raised eyebrows. And George was with them, but his back was to her; she could see the flat side of his head where his ear should be.

"I'm here," she repeated, heat rushing around her cheeks. "George? What are you doing?"

He was standing oddly, hunched forward with his arms wrapped around his front, like he was holding on to something.

"Ava," his voice said, "we know that it's been awhile...but it's the only possibility we can think of." He turned around. "Do you know this boy?"

The space wasn't terribly bright. Only the hall light above Ava's head glowed, along with a single lamp in the sitting room.

But Ava didn't need a spotlight, a beacon, or a torch. Just half a second in the dim light was enough.

The boy in George's arms was somewhere between two and three years old, leaning towards the latter. He had that brown hair that looked almost red, and that tiny, ski-jump nose. He blinked, and his eyes weren't dark and murky like Gridgeon's, they were the lightest of milk chocolate shades.

Like his mother.

It was Sarah Serrano's son.

"Oh my God," Ava breathed.

_It felt like a lifetime ago._

Another life. This, this was the moment her next lifetime began. Her first, a careless life of parties and new friends. Then, a life locked in a cage, a life on the run, a life of looking for the next streak of violet in the sky, waiting for the night to be over. Her third, a life of growth and change and plans, Fred's face floating in the center of it all.

And now, this was the start of her next. A life in her belly, a life of magic crackling at her fingertips, the barely-started life of a lost boy she thought she'd never see again in front of her.

The flat was still and nearly quiet as George watched Ava's face marveling at the boy in his arms. The clock ticked gently. The shower head down the hall dripped. The front door of the shop a couple floors below them opened and closed.

And the protective Floo totem Ginny Weasley had accidentally kicked under the loveseat remained forgotten, hidden in shadow and already collecting dust.


	37. Chapter 37--Vita

**Authors Note: So, this is my longest chapter for sure. It's a monster. But it's also my favorite. Ladies and gentlemen, THIS chapter is what inspired the ENTIRE STORY! I had the inspiration for this series of scenes and actually worked my way BACKWARDS to plan the entirety of the story *around it*. This was the seed that sprouted Resurgence! I hope you love it as much as I do.**

**Chapters left after this: 4 (and an epilogue.)**

**I'm heading to Vermont now for a long weekend! Toodles!**

**Chapter 37—Vita**

_It was happening again: a woman walked down the opposite end of the corridor, only this time, Fred was certain it was Ava._

_He was following her down what seemed like a never-ending hallway. The floor was plain flagstone and the walls were plain, roughly cut grey bricks. No torches were mounted upon the walls; the space was void of any warmth or merry light, rather, they were bathed in an odd purplish haze._

_Ava walked ahead of him, not very quickly, but gaining distance nonetheless. Fred quickened his pace but felt as though he were wading through molasses; moving was becoming increasingly difficult and his progress was slow._

"_Wait for me!" he cried out to her._

_But Ava continued without so much as a glance behind her. Her long blonde hair swayed across her back, and she was wearing those oversized black clothes she'd been in the first time they'd met in the alleyway._

"_Ava!"_

_She was becoming smaller and smaller in the distance of the massively lengthy corridor. There was panic swirling around in Fred's chest; he was certain he'd lose sight of her soon._

_He attempted to break into a sprint, but suddenly found himself unable to move. He'd like to say his feet were glued to the floor, but it was more than that—he was stuck in place so firmly, it was like his feet had rooted into the flagstone itself._

_The ground began to shake, violently enough so that the bricks in the walls began rattling against one another, threatening to fall out of their places. Small clouds of dust began emitting through the cracks between them._

"_Ava, help me!" Fred screamed, twisting and flailing in place._

_She finally paused, and slowly turned to look over her shoulder at him. Her face wasn't one of concern or even one of recognition—she looked totally and utterly confused. There was a crease between her eyebrows as she seemed to study him skeptically, but the quaking of the corridor didn't seem to phase her otherwise._

_After a few moments of staring, she seemed to decide she didn't know him, or want to help him. She gave what looked like a half-shrug, and turned back around, continuing her strides away from him._

"_Ava!"_

_But Fred's pleading was drowned out by a sudden explosive rumbling; it was a terrible noise, the sound of rock falling against rock. The walls around him began collapsing, the bricks tumbling down out of place one by one, whooshing past him and crashing to the floor._

_There was dust and debris everywhere now, obscuring his vision and choking him. He could barely see his own hands out before him._

_An additional noise broke through the sound of the rumbling and his own gasping: the very distinct cries of an infant._

"_Ava, where's the baby?" he called down the corridor, but there was no answer._

_The child wailed again, and this time, it sounded much closer, like it had been right next to his ear._

_He looked down—the crying infant was cradled in his own arms, its wails strangled sounding amongst the dust. How it had gotten there, he didn't know, but he had to protect it from the falling debris...he wrapped his arms around it as tightly as he could, crouching down and tucking it under his ribcage, letting the bricks smash into his shoulders and the back of his head as the baby squirmed in his arms—_

"Fred. FRED!"

Although his eyes snapped open, he couldn't see anything quite yet. Consciousness was flooding back to him, slowly but surely, as the dream left him hazy and disoriented.

"What in creation are you down here moanin' and groanin' about—were you _dreamin'_?"

Dakota's twangy voice accompanied by the sounds of him clomping down the spiral staircase echoed around the circular, glass-walled second level of the Treehouse. Fred remained lying still in the bed he'd summoned there, blinking hard, waiting for the last remnants of anxiety from the dream to melt away. He licked his lips and sat up slowly.

"Sorry," he croaked. His throat was very dry, he swore he could still taste the dust from the collapsing corridor.

Dakota swaggered over, yawning widely and dragging his feet, shirtless and wearing only a pair of drawstring pajama pants and his white and red phoenix eye patch. He was sort of scowling, his one visible eye all screwed up like he was staring at something that warranted harsh judgment.

"What in the Sam Hill is wrong with you? You're sweatin' like a whore in church."

Fred was rubbing his face vigorously with his palms now. "Had a nightmare," he muttered through his fingers, before letting his hands drop back down to the bed.

Dakota was still eyeing him. "This have anything to do with you being..._here_?" He held his arms out, gesturing to the room around them.

Fred wasn't sure if Dakota was trying to point out something specific—the room was perfectly tidy, and the dark forest visible to them through the glass walls was quite still.

"Here?" he echoed back.

"Yeah. I mean, you're _here_, she's _there,_ you two been gettin' into it or what? Wasn't she just takin' care of your sickly ass last week?"

"Dakota," Fred said loudly, his voice coming out a little more aggressive than he intended it to. "Just...stop. I'm fine." His stomach was still churning with all sorts of dark feelings about the nightmare he'd just had; he was far from 'fine' but he didn't feel like sharing his feelings with Dakota right now.

"You don't look fine," Dakota challenged him stubbornly, folding his arms across his bare chest. It was only then Fred noticed that the burns he'd sustained across his face and ear ran down his neck, and the skin stretched across his right collarbone was rippled and marred as well.

Seeing the burns made something *ping* inside Fred's chest; that dream, that skeptical, almost accusatory look Ava had in her eye as she stared at him becoming buried in rubble, unmoved, suddenly came floating back into his head, and the last thing Fred wanted to see right now was any pain he'd caused.

"Stop with the fucking questions, Dakota, and go back to bed!" he exclaimed, jabbing towards the staircase.

Dakota's half-formed lips parted in surprise, and then his expression immediately became angry. "Well excuse me, Your Highness, I only came down to see what all the yowlin' was about that roused me from my godamn sleep—"

"This place doesn't _belong_ to you!" Fred was yelling now, although he couldn't remember consciously beginning to raise his voice. All leftover lethargy that had been clinging to him from the dream had completely disappeared. "You just sleep here, I helped _build _this place!"

"Oh, I see, so anything you make is just yours to do what you please with, huh?" Dakota cried back, now looking at Fred like he was absolutely crazy.

"Yeah." Fred licked his lips again. He wished he had something to drink. "Yeah, that's right. Sure."

"Well...fine!" He reached up around his head and tore away the gleaming eye patch, tossing it to the ground. "You can have that back, then." He turned on his heel and left, storming back up the spiral staircase to his room on the third level.

Fred was staring down at the beautiful patch, carelessly splayed out in the middle of the floor. The phoenix flapped its wings a few times.

"Dakota—" he called, but the door above him slammed.

For a few moments, Fred just continued sitting there, upright in the randomly placed bed. Part of him wanted to go downstairs to get water, but the greater part yanked back at him with exhaustion, not willing to put forth the effort.

With a frustrated groan, he flopped backwards on to his pillow, staring up at the wooden boards in the ceiling.

The last time he had a nightmare was the night before the Hogwarts memorial service. It was slightly similar to this one; he'd found himself in the corridor collapse all over again...but that time was different...Ava had intervened, sensed his distress, pulled him out of the nightmare and changed the dream for him, her very presence the salve to his night terrors...

This time, she hadn't appeared. This time, she'd heeded his wishes, and truly left him alone.

Her skeptical face from the dream and Dakota's eyepatch lying stationary on the floor only feet away from him swirled around his mind like a tornado he couldn't escape from.

Fred couldn't help feeling like he was back to square one—back to pushing everyone far, far away, and making everyone he loved dearly hate him.

* * *

Some might say staring deeply and determinedly into a teacup looks like unhealthy behavior, but Ava was on a mission.

The little blue cup sat still on the kitchen island, filled with water at room temperature. The teabag floated along at the surface, and the water remained clear, the tea not steeping from lack of warmth.

Ava took a deep breath—five seconds in through the nose, five seconds out through the mouth—and she reached out to touch it.

She let her finger gently brush the brim of the cup, concentrating on visualizing exactly what she wished to happen—she imagined curls of steam arising from the surface, the teabag's color bleeding amber into the water. She even mentally chanted the word 'hot' a few times.

_Hot, hot, hot._

Nothing.

Ava sighed, staring forlornly down into the shallow depths of the teacup again. She cracked her knuckles, and clenched and unclenched her fists again, before wrapping both of her hands around the sides of the cup.

_Hot! Hot! Hot!_

"Ha!" Ava let out a triumphant sputter of surprise as the porcelain seared warmth into her skin. The teabag immediately sank, its golden color spreading throughout the water. The aroma of the freshly brewed tea met her nostrils, and promptly, as though on cue, her stomach gave an almighty grumble.

"Alright, alright, food's coming," she murmured with a pat to her navel as she crossed the kitchen to the cupboard above the stove. She pulled out a box of cookies—Ginger Newts, they were labelled—and went back to her spot at the counter, dunking the amphibian shaped biscuit into her tea before biting its tail off.

She was getting better at controlling the magic now. Hermione had stopped by again a couple of days ago with some of her old school books to let her borrow, thinking it would be good for Ava to have something to put her energy towards and work on.

"Truthfully, I'm not sure how much use they'll be to you," Hermione had said with a sigh, setting the large stack of texts down on the coffee table. "They're spellbooks, but it's all about incantations and wand movements, and seeing as how you're not using a wand...well, maybe some really strong intent will have to do." She'd offered a half smile and a shrug.

"Thanks Hermione." Ava had smiled back, knowing Hermione understood—she wasn't just thanking her for the books, she was thanking her for not pumping her about what had happened with Fred. No one had seen him in days, after all.

Ava didn't like thinking about that too much herself, either. Every time she did, for example, she'd start breaking or dissolving or bursting things with her very touch, her chest wracked with sadness and anger and fear. And it seemed like all her body wanted right now was copious amounts of food and sleep—so she ate and slept and read Hermione's books, determinedly pushing away the aching hole in her heart that thumped every time she came across one of Fred's socks, or stray ginger hairs on the bathroom floor.

Her stomach rumbled again.

"He'll be back," she whispered out loud, and chomped down on another Newt.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairway from the shop met her ears. Half-heartedly abandoning her unfinished biscuit, Ava turned to fetch another teacup from the shelving above the sink. George had been dropping by every day to check on her, and not-so-subtly ask if she'd heard from Fred. They had a bit of a routine going now, where George would vaguely ask how she was feeling, Ava would tell him about her need for snacks and naps, George would give her a sack of food he'd picked up from the market, and then he'd tiptoe into the subject of his twin. These afternoon visits were always accompanied by tea, so the footsteps had come to be her signal to get the kettle going (her patience for magically warming the tea had run out for the day).

She heard the door open behind her as she was rummaging her hand around the tea bag jar next to the sink, her other hand still holding on to the empty cup.

"George, do you think you can bring me some more tea soon, I'm running—"

She'd turned around, and her words stopped short. The cup slipped from her fingers and shattered upon the floor.

It wasn't George. It was Fred.

"What are you doing here?" The words seemingly came spilling out of her mouth all on her own; Ava would have liked for her first words to him after his nearly week-long absence to be something smart and important and powerful, but instead, here she was, questioning him why he'd returned to his own house.

Fred's shoulders were rounded forward in an ashamed sort of way as he looked at her, standing awkwardly in the foyer. He gestured to her bare feet.

"There's glass," he said.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated back to him, staying firmly rooted in place—half out of stubbornness, half out of, admittedly, fear of stepping on the broken shards.

Fred stared at her face for a few more seconds before resolvedly sighing and drawing his wand out from his back pocket.

"_Reparo,"_ he murmured, and the broken pieces of the teacup sprang to life, melding together seamlessly like puzzle pieces in a perfect fit. He twitched his wand again and the teacup levitated up on to the counter to sit beside Ava's.

They stayed in silence for a few more seconds, Fred still posed in the foyer among the shoe rack and umbrella stand and Ava behind the kitchen island, the tea bag still in her hand.

"How are you?" he asked her pathetically, shoving his hands in his pockets. The edges of his ears poking out from between his layer of shaggy orange hair flushed magenta.

"Pregnant. Alone. Peachy. You?"

The magenta flushed an impressive shade of merlot.

Fred withdrew his hands from his pockets and began making his way over to Ava's side. "Listen...I really don't know what to say. I—"

The sound was like the crack of a whip. She'd slapped him.

Fred had a bit of a delayed reaction, flinching and blinking hard after her hand had already left his face. An awkward silence ensued before he finally had the courage to look down to her eyes.

"Suppose I deserved that," he muttered, rubbing his jaw. "Suppose I would've been concerned if you _didn't_ do something like that."

Ava was staring up at him, her fists clenched at her sides and breathing hard like she'd just sprinted a short distance. Fred reached out to touch her shoulder, but she jerked her torso away, tears burning in her eyes.

Fred frowned. "What do you want me to say?"

"You're an ass."

"Okay, I'm an ass!" he exclaimed, holding his arms out at his sides. "I'm an ass. You're right. What else?" He let his arms fall, clapping against the sides of his legs.

Ava hugged her arms against herself tightly. "I didn't do this to myself, you know," she whispered thickly through her tears.

"I know."

Fred was undoubtedly kind of afraid of getting slapped again—boy, the girl could hit—but he risked it, closing the distance between them in two wide strides and pulling Ava against his chest.

She folded, giving in without a fight and leaning against him, her tears soaking through his shirt. She sobbed for a minute, and Fred squeezed her tighter, one hand stroking her hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You were so angry," she said back, her voice muffled against his chest.

"I wasn't angry at you," he replied quickly.

"I know—I know you don't w-want this, Fred, but—"

"Is that what you think?" Fred grabbed her by the shoulders and held her away from him at arm's length to get a good look at her reddened, tear washed face. "That's why you think I left?"

Ava shrugged beneath his hands. "What else was I supposed to think?" she whispered.

He stared at her for a few more seconds. "Fair enough."

Ava avoided his eyes. She slipped out from under his hands and headed over to the sink, turning on the faucet and leaning over the spray as she splashed her face.

"I can only imagine how much you hate me right now," Fred said in a low voice from over her shoulder. "I don't know what I'm doing here, I know I need to fix things but I feel like I can't stop fucking up...what are you staring at?"

Ava had straightened up from the sink and was patting her face dry with the dish towel. The fabric had barely left her skin when something out the window had caught her eye...it almost looked like...but no, not here...

"I thought I saw something," she said in a distracted voice, and quickly crossed the room, stepping around Fred to stand at the larger window in the sitting room. She cranked it open; it was the window she'd climbed out of a few weeks prior. The crisp October breeze and the sounds of the bustling alley below flowed in.

"What was it?" Fred asked, coming to stand beside her. He directed his gaze to where she was staring: directly across the way, through the third floor window of Miss Teeley's Muggle Trinkets and Toys.

Ava continued watching, waiting to see it again...but there was nothing. Just stillness, blackness. She turned to face Fred.

"Callaghan," she said in a voice that sounded both awed and confused. "I thought I saw Callaghan."

Fred frowned. "Callaghan? You haven't seen him since—"

"The night I left Merryweather, yeah," Ava finished for him. She gave one last glance into the window across the way and then cranked theirs shut again, making sure to lock the latch. "Fox wouldn't tell me what happened to him. Hey, did you hear about Knox?"

"Dakota told me, yeah. He's with one of the Auror's family, as a foster. They're not sure what to do with him yet. It's weird how Zonko would just give him up like that and surrender, isn't it?"

Ava nodded. "George said he was barely coherent, acting really addled, but he managed to get something out about Knox being Gridgeon's 'crowning jewel' because he started doing magic...he said he took Knox away to try and draw Gridgeon out for us."

Fred's thoughtful frown deepened. "That doesn't make any sense. Why does he want to help us now?"

"Don't know. Some sort of redemption song, maybe."

They returned to silence, their temporary distraction from the window and their talk of Sarah's son fading, the heaviness of the previous conversation creeping back into the atmosphere.

Finally, their eyes met, Fred's maple-syrup ones and Ava's greyish green, all vulnerability, shame, and desperation between them apparent.

"I don't know what to do," Fred whispered.

"I know. I'm scared too."

Fred shook his head, gnawing on his bottom lip and backing away from Ava. "You don't understand," he said. "I'm not...this isn't..." he struggled desperately for the words.

But he didn't have to. Something was practically vibrating off of him; when he'd first come in Ava could feel his awkwardness, his embarrassment, his guilt. But now it was different, now he was feeling like—

"Like you're not good enough?" Ava whispered, stepping towards him. "You feel like you're not good enough? Fred, how could you possibly—"

"I can't give you _what you'll need_." Fred forced the words out through his teeth, tears forming in his own eyes now. "I can't be a good father, I can't be a good anything!"

"What do you mean?" Ava pleaded.

Fred jabbed his finger behind him in the direction of the hall leading to the bedroom. "You just had to care for me like I was some kind of bloody invalid for almost a week, Ava!" he exclaimed. "This is what's going to happen, this is who I am, who I'm going to be! An on and off cripple forever!"

"And our child will love you all the same!" she said firmly, trying to get close to Fred to touch him, but now he was the one jerking away. The tears spilled down his cheeks.

He had his hands on his hips now, staring down at his shoes, or the floor, anything but up at Ava. "I'm not worried about love," he said softly. "I'm worried about the third night in a row when you haven't slept, and the baby is crying and needs tending, and I'm confined in bed and you have to do it. I'm worried about not being able to send him or her off to Hogwarts because I'm back at home in bed and aching. I'm worried I wont be able to fly with him on a broom, I'm worried I won't be able to braid her hair, I'm worried..." Fred trailed off. He was staring at Ava's face now, although he couldn't remember looking up. "I'm worried you'll have to do it all. And I'm worried you'll hate me for it."

There it was. Fred hadn't been angry to know she was pregnant, he hadn't been avoiding her because he didn't want their little family. He'd left because he _did_ want it, desperately so, but he was afraid he wouldn't be able to be everything he needed to be when the time came.

Ava had known it all along, that Fred was scared—she just hadn't understood the reason.

Before she could respond, before she could say anything at all, Fred was hurrying past her, wiping his face with the bottom edge of his shirt and going towards the fireplace again.

"Fred, don't you DARE leave me again!" Ava screamed, angry and scared and desperate and pleading all at once, and the repaired teacup sitting stationary on the kitchen island ten feet behind her shattered again, spraying the counter with glass.

Fred paused, and then looked over his shoulder at her, resting his chin on his shoulder. He looked at her the way she'd looked at him in St. Mungo's, when she'd dropped the back of her robe to let the nurse look at her burns. Sad. Broken. Vulnerable.

It had been the first time she had made Fred feel something. The first time he felt the wall in front of his heart fading away.

He'd barely known her at all, but that was the moment she made him fall in love with her.

"I'm _sorry_," he choked out, and stepped into the emerald flames.

"Fred!" Ava yelled.

But again, he was gone.

* * *

Feeling completely drained from the emotional exchange, Ava laid down to rest, still fully clothed and sprawled atop the bed's blankets. She lay there, staring dolefully at the ceiling. Her chest ached, replaying the look on Fred's face before he'd left over and over again, until her eyelids became impossibly heavy and she gave in to sleep.

When she awoke two hours later, she did not recognize the man kneeling on her chest—at least not at first.

She quickly became acutely aware of the sensation of her arms pinned down at her sides, leaving her unable to move, before she'd even opened her eyes. And when she did, she felt them grow wide in horror and shock at the sight of the man sitting on her waist.

Ava opened her mouth to instinctively scream, but the man clapped his hand over her mouth and bore his weight down harder, his knees digging into the insides of her elbows, his thighs pressing painfully on her ribs.

His hand on her mouth smelled dirty and stale as though it hadn't met soap and water in quite some time. The hand was attached to an arm that was extremely thin; the little flesh that was left on the bone sagged like that of an elderly person's. He wore a shirt that was more than several sizes too large, draped across his shoulders like someone trying to wear a circus tent, and the neckhole gaped, showing the skin of his chest stretched tightly across his sternum. His neck bulged with veins and arteries as his square jaw remained extended and tight, his face panic-stricken as his eyes bulged down at her. It seemed like every breath he took required lots of effort on his part, his whole head rocking back and forth every time he inhaled and exhaled.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, Ava puffing quick, panicked breaths through her nose against his fingers, and him, staring down at her looking terrified as though he himself couldn't believe what he was doing. He breathed and rocked, breathed and rocked, and on the third breath, a curl of his hair—so brown it was nearly black—spilled on to his forehead.

"_Mm-m-mm!"_ Ava exclaimed, her voice impossibly muffled against the tightness of his hand across her lips. She'd wanted to cry out his name: Callaghan.

Callaghan had always been—what was it she'd mentally referred to him as?-a juggernaut, all power and strength, a thick jaw and even thicker arms. He'd once looked like he could have burst through a wall if he'd run at it hard enough. Like Fox, he'd been a star athlete in his high school days, an All-American football player and recipient of Gatorade's High School Player of the Year, an Offensive Lineman that made other school's teams shake in their cleats. He had a similar effect on the rugby team he'd joined in Ireland while studying abroad, and although he'd only been in his Freshman year, rumor was Ireland's National team already had their eye on him.

Ava thought she'd last seen him ten months ago, her departing sight observing his fallen, crumpled form, his calves riddled with gunshot wounds as he lay facedown near the horseshoe-shaped front desk at the Merryweather compound. But she wasn't seeing things after all—she _had_, in fact, seen him earlier that day, a fleeting glance of what looked like his face in the third floor window of Miss Teeley's Muggle Trinkets and Toys—but she'd dismissed it, convinced the shadowy face she'd seen couldn't have been his.

But now she knew: it was, and it was a different face than she'd gotten to know while imprisoned in the Merryweather compound for three years. His face before had been full and handsome, the kind of face that was sure to break hearts—a square jaw and chiseled chin, high cheekbones and bright blue eyes framed by dark brows. But now...his face was panicked, empty, and broken. Gaunt. Bleak, and nearly sallow. The blue of his eyes were framed by pinpricks of scarlet, the blood vessels around his eyes burst and splotchy.

It was like seeing a ghost, a ghoul, a tortured form of someone she'd once knew. What had they done to him?

"_MM-M-MM!"_ Ava tried again, screaming against his hand. She thrashed her legs against the mattress as hard as she could, but even in his skeletal form, all muscle long melted away, Callaghan didn't budge.

He raised his free hand up to his mouth, pressing his index finger against his lips.

"Sh-shhh," he shushed her, his breath quivering violently. A bead of sweat dangled precariously from the tip of his nose.

"I'm—I'm supposed to keep you here," he breathed down to her, revealing dark yellow teeth. "I'm supposed to make you stay."

Ava's breath quickened further, panting out from her nose and against his pinky finger beneath her nostrils. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak.

She was, once again, at the mercy of someone she'd left behind after promising she wouldn't.

Callaghan's eyes bulged further, his forehead creasing deeply as a look of both desperation and pain crossed his face.

"I don't _want_ you to stay," he whispered slowly, taking minute pauses between each word as though it agonized him to speak. He waited a few moments before saying anything again, and the globule of sweat from his nose dripped down, landing square between Ava's eyes. She blinked hard, flinching.

He peeled his hand away from her mouth very, very slowly, a pleading look in his eyes begging her to stay silent. He passed his rough thumb over her brow, gently, almost lovingly, wiping away his drop of perspiration from her face. And then he spoke again.

"I want you to _run_."

It happened all at once, as though their movements had been well-rehearsed and choreographed: Callaghan did something of a somersault, flinging himself off of her body clumsily and stumbling to the floor, catching himself on all fours. Ava didn't hesitate; as soon as his weight left her body, she spectacularly hurled herself off the bed, springing to her feet and somehow landing across the room as though powered by an invisible catapult. She wondered if she'd ever moved so fast in her life.

She dashed out the bedroom door, nearly losing her footing beneath her in her panic, gripping on to the wall for only a second to regain balance before taking off again. She charged down the hallway, streaking past the bathroom and George's old bedroom, determined to reach the foyer. Callaghan's voice cried out behind her.

"Run, Ava! Run!"

She was almost there. Her bare feet were slamming against the weathered wood floor, just a few more strides—

WHAM.

Someone's arm, someone who'd been hiding around the corner leading into the kitchen, swung out from behind the wall, slamming into her collarbones and catching her around the shoulders. The sheer, sudden force of it knocked her backwards and off her feet, and she felt her body colliding with Callaghan's behind her as she toppled over.

"Going somewhere?"

Fox's voice rang out among Ava and Callaghan's cries, their bodies tangling together as they tumbled in a domino effect.

With the wind knocked out of her and the back of her head throbbing, Ava raised her head off the ground groggily, blinking hard.

Fox came swimming into view, in what had become her usual getup of dark clothes and arsenal of knives strapped to her hips and outer thighs. The one side of her head looked freshly shaved, nearly bald around her ear, and the other side was more wild than ever, a thick pile of frizzy and kinked black hair spilling across her shoulder. She swung up her arm from her side and waved around something dark and long.

"You forgot to lock the door, you nitwit."

Ava's vision finally came to complete focus. Fox was holding the flat's Floo totem—the exact thing that was supposed to be keeping her out.

"Callaghan!" Fox barked.

A scraping sound came from behind Ava. Callaghan scrambled past her, crawling on all fours towards Fox, looking and whimpering exactly like a mistreated dog. As soon he neared her feet, she bent down and gripped a handful of his dark curls, yanking him up by his scalp.

"What happened to holding her until I arrived, huh?" Fox growled, yanking Callaghan up further. He was sobbing, absolutely blubbering, clumsily clawing at Fox's hand in his hair. It was certainly an odd sight; Fox wasn't even five feet tall and maybe 100 pounds soaking wet, and she was seemingly in complete control of the boy who, once upon a time, probably could have squeezed a watermelon until it burst in his hands.

"You've been _bad._ We'll talk about this later." She chided him like a mother angry with a small child. She released his hair, sending him back to the floor in a crumpled heap, and he remained there, curled into a ball at her feet and sobbing.

"How did you...how..." Ava trailed off, her eyes locked on the wooden trio of monkeys in Fox's grip. She wanted to ask her how she'd managed to get past it, how she was even managing to be here...but Ava was having trouble stringing her words together. She wasn't feeling nearly as brave as she had been a couple of weeks ago when she'd willingly climbed out of the window to meet Fox. At least then, she'd had a sliver of hope for Fox, then, help was only a cry for help away, then, she hadn't been aware she was responsible for the safety of another life, the tiny life inside of her...

But now she knew: Fox was beyond—and not interested in—any form of redemption. And Ava could scream, of course, but the shop beneath her was loud enough to hear through the floorboards, and even if someone did hear her, there was no guarantee Fox wouldn't just kill her before then...

Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Sword or wings.

Fox was standing directly in the archway at the end of the hall leading into the foyer and door. She'd met with Ava a couple of weeks ago just to scare her, Ava knew that now, purposefully killing Rita in front of her to show her—this was how little she cared, this was how far she had gone, this was what's coming for Ava next—

Well, it seemed as though that time had come. She'd been being watched, Fox specifically waiting for a time when she wouldn't run into George during one of his afternoon visits, or Fred, relying on patience in anticipation for the kill...

Ava had been hunted.

And so she made up her mind, like any wild animal in the woods being pursued by something deadly: flight.

She rolled on to her belly as quickly as she could, pushing up off the ground and bumbling to her feet.

"Oh no you don't!" Fox yelled, and Ava could hear her thundering footsteps behind her.

Ava dove in through the first doorway she saw—the bathroom. She cursed under her breath as she kicked the door shut and locked it, wishing she'd instead continued on to the bedroom where she could have escaped through the window.

"And what are you going to do in there, pray tell? Are you taking a bath? Did you soil yourself?" Fox jeered on the other side of the door.

Ava dragged the stool from the corner to the door, the spare towels atop it tumbling to the ground as she wedged the seat under the handle for good measure.

Complete silence followed for a few seconds as Ava watched the door carefully. But even though she'd been waiting for something to happen, the first whack upon the door still managed to make her jump, stumbling backward and clutching the edge of the sink.

Something heavy continued thumping against the door, over and over again, with identical force each time. Fox's voice came from the other side.

"You are such—"

_THUMP._

"A fucking—"

_THUMP._

"Coward!"

The center of the door was starting to appear swollen now, bulging inwards as Fox continued her attempts of knocking it down. There came another whack, and the sounds of splintering wood finally began.

_I'm going to die,_ Ava thought hopelessly, her heart threatening to hammer clean out of her chest. _I'm going to die in this bathroom..._

This bathroom.

For just a second, Ava forgot about Fox acting as a battering ram on the other side of the door. Instead, her attention turned to the floor beneath her, staring down at the fluffy white bathmat poking out from between her toes.

"_It's a potion. It's called Vita. Me and George invented it...it makes it so you can't die."_

Another swift whack thundered upon the door, and Ava heard paint chips falling to the ground. She jumped aside and crouched down, ripping the bathmat away from its place and grabbing on to the loose floorboard with fumbling fingers.

_THUMP._

The grubby little cardboard box stacked neatly with Vita potions rested there, quietly and patiently, as though in hibernation and waiting to be used. Ava pulled out one of the tiny bottles and hurriedly replaced the floorboard and rug.

_THUMP._

As she began feverishly twisting off the cap to the bottle, Fred's words came floating back to her, and she paused.

"_It's a very temperamental little potion...needs to be dispersed but cant be separated too far from its other half."_

What good would drinking the potion do if Ava didn't have a second drinker to finish the dose?

Fox hit the door again, and finally, it began breaking—a large seam appeared down the middle of the wood. Ava could hear her angry, labored breath from the other side.

But she was out of ideas, out of options, out of time—she wasn't sure what good it would do, but she did it anyway: Ava downed the top half of the potion.

It was incredibly sour, and very..._zingy,_ like taking a mouthful of pure lemon juice. She sputtered from the acrid flavor, coughing and placing the bottle on the sink beside the soap dish.

One final bang, and Ava was suddenly showered with bits of wood and paint chips as the door smashed open. She shielded her face and jumped backwards, her calves bumping up against the toilet. She was cornered, and the fear that hit her upon realizing it was colossal; the sink and bathtub faucets sprang to life and began pouring forth water, her magic going haywire again.

The thin cloud of dust cleared, and Fox climbed through the gaping hole in the door. She clutched the heavy trio of monkeys, and her fingers and knuckles were bloody.

"Well, this thing finally came in handy, didn't it?"

"Fox—"

"Oh, Ava." Fox sighed, and wound up the totem behind her head, like she was gripping a baseball bat and waiting for a pitch. "Don't you ever just _shut up?_"

And she swung, Ava feeling the immense pain as it collided with the side of her head for only a second before the world faded away.

* * *

It was as though Dakota was waiting for Fred, like some kind of scheduled guest. Nothing else could explain the way he was sprawled across one of the tabletops in the first level of the Treehouse, twiddling his thumbs together expectantly.

Really, he was _literally sprawled_ across the tabletop. He lay on his back, fully clothed with combat boots and all, acting like it was totally normal to be laying down on a surface that people frequently ate off of.

He also didn't look surprised at all when Fred stepped out of the fireplace, still faintly glowing green for a moment as the flames of the Floo died down. He simply turned his head to look at him, his scarred cheek resting against the woodgrain. Fred noticed he was wearing his magical phoenix eye patch again.

"Ah," Dakota said, sitting up slowly and swinging his legs off the side of the table so his feet rested upon the bench. "The Prodigal Son returns! _He was lost, and is found!_" He belted out the last sentence especially loudly, with a deep and official tone, like he was announcing it to the empty room.

Fred's shoulders felt like there were enormous boulders resting on them. He didn't have the energy to shrug, or even to make a face, really. His arsenal of witty comebacks also seemed empty.

"The Prodigal what?" Fred muttered. He remained standing awkwardly before the hearth.

"Nothin', ya filthy heathen. Come take a sit." Dakota slapped the spot on the table beside him firmly.

Fred couldn't help but eye him somewhat suspiciously.

"You're not angry with me anymore?" he asked, guilt swimming in his gut as he observed the Marine.

Dakota smirked. "Didn't say I wasn't pissed. I just don't feel like fightin' no more." He reached into his jacket and extracted an aluminum flask, shaking it back and forth. Fred could hear liquid sloshing around inside. "I feel like drinkin'."

Fred continued to stay rooted to the spot, staring at Dakota. He wasn't sure what to make of his suddenly warm behavior; the two of them hadn't acknowledged one another since their argument the night before.

Dakota tipped the flask into his mouth for just a second, scrunching up his features in disgust as he swallowed a mouthful of whatever was inside. He exhaled with an obnoxious, refreshed-sounding _"ahhh"_ and stared right back at Fred cockily with his good eye, smacking his lips a couple of times.

"You know, where I come from, if a man invites you to drink with him and you turn him down, that's a sign of disrespect."

Fred sighed heavily. "We're not in Texas, Dakota."

"Well, maybe we should drink until we think we are." He patted the table beside him again. "Sit. Drink."

Fred admittedly didn't have any better ideas as to what to do with himself, so he finally went ahead and obliged, heading to the table and dragging his feet the entire way.

Shit. He just felt like shit. All around dragon dung.

He perched himself upon the table beside Dakota, trying to push from his mind what his mother's reaction would be if she could see them now, their asses where plates should be.

Dakota stuck the flask under Fred's nose and shook it around, its contents slopping around again. The smell of whiskey drifted from its top and met Fred's nostrils harshly, like he was breathing in smoke.

"Erm," he said, his usual way with words gone and forgotten, "I think I'll stick with...water. _Accio cup_."

One of the cupboards above the sink in the back corner of the room rattled for a moment before springing open. A clear drinking glass came whizzing out through the air gracefully, landing in Fred's outstretched hand.

"_Aguamenti."_

Water poured form the tip of Fred's wand into the glass. Dakota watched the whole thing with great interest.

"Cheers," Fred muttered, and banged the glass into Dakota's flask. It seemed like Dakota didn't have anything in particular he wanted to talk about at the moment, so the two sat in silence for a bit before Fred spoke again.

"Where's Gabrielle?" he asked, rolling the now-empty water glass between his palms.

"She's out," Dakota waved vaguely into the air. "She's got all these appointments."

"Appointments?"

"Yeah. House buildin' plans. You know we got _two_ architects?" He laughed, shaking his head. "I reckon she's plannin' some kinda estate. Castle or somethin'. Probably with a moat full of glitter." He laughed again and took another swig of whiskey.

Fred raised his eyebrows. "I was wondering why you hadn't taken off with that money yet. So it's like that, is it? You _and _Gabrielle's house?"

Dakota grinned, even making the right side of his face hitch up a little. "Yeah, it's like that. Told her I don't give a damn what she builds, as long as I get a little land to shoot and ride. Somewhere close I can fish, too. You ever been fly fishin'?"

"Can't say that I have."

"I'll have to teach you."

Fred couldn't help it. He smiled at him.

"Okay."

"Alright."

A few more minutes passed with nothing said between the two. A pleasant breeze drifted through the large Bay window that had been thrown open, the air in the trees seemingly glowing periwinkle as the last of the day's sunlight was drained from the forest.

"Dakota?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to be a father."

The mouthful of whiskey Dakota had taken into his mouth immediately began choking him; he spluttered violently as Fred pounded him between his shoulderblades. As the coughing subsided, he grasped one hand to his chest, trying to catch his breath, and with the other hand, tried to forcefully shove the flask into Fred's hand.

"No, Dakota, really—no, I don't want it—"

"Drink," he gasped.

"I'm not doing much of that anymore...really, I'm fine." He gave Dakota's hand a final push away.

Dakota set the aluminum flask down on the table with a very final-sounding _clunk_, and stared at Fred, his face somewhere in the realm between shock, curiosity, and excitement.

"Well, fry me in butter and call me a catfish, Fred!"

Fred couldn't help it, he burst into hysterical laughter.

"What on God's green earth is so gosh darn funny?" Dakota demanded.

"You're...you're ridiculous," he managed, wiping tears away as his peals of laughter finally subsided.

"Hold up, is that why you've been stayin' here? Did she kick your ass out for knockin' her up?"

Fred swung his arm out to the side, catching Dakota around the middle. He doubled over with an _"oof", _but the two grinned good-naturedly at one another.

"It's been...awkward," Fred admitted after they regained their composure. "George knew before I did, and I dunno, it just caught me by surprise is all—"

"You quarrelin' with George too?"

_Quarreling._ Is that what they were doing?

Fred shrugged. "I guess so."

"Aw, man," Dakota murmured, picking the flask back up and taking another drink. "You know when I first met you two—George and you—I took you as the never-quarrelin' type. You always just seemed like...I don't even know how to say it, two halves of the same person? Does that make sense?"

"It does," Fred replied, and then, after a pause, "Sometimes it is still like that. And sometimes it's not." He waited for Dakota to respond, but he was watching him expectantly, so he just continued. "When we were younger especially. Mum used to say we actually started out as one child, and then down came a bolt of lightning that split us into two." He laughed at the memory. He hadn't thought about that in awhile.

"But then, I dunno...these past few years it's just become more apparent that we really are two different people, you know? Not just twins, not just brothers. We're separate men. And it's times like this that it really shows. We're already _looking_ more and more different, for the love of Merlin."

"Yeah," Dakota said, nodding, and his hazel eyes traveled up to Fred's hair, which was now shaggy, hanging loosely nearly to his jaw and tucked behind his ears. "George keeps it a bit more tidy, more slicked-like, and you got some kinda..._rockstar_ thing goin' on."

Fred arched a single eyebrow at him.

Dakota laughed. "Oh come on, why do you sound so down about all of it, Fred? You sound like you're guilty for realizin' you and him are two separate people!"

"I suppose sometimes I am guilty. It feels that way, at least." The words tasted strange coming out of Fred's mouth. He hadn't ever told anyone this before.

"And Ava?" Dakota raised his remaining eyebrow. "Don't feed me no bullshit and try and tell me you left just because you were _surprised_. That's supposed to be your girl, aint it?"

"I...yes."

"Well?"

Fred almost laughed again at the way Dakota was staring at him; it was like when his mother used to question him and George about why they didn't complete some kind of assignment that they were supposed to.

He sighed exasperatedly and raised and lowered one shoulder in an awkward half-shrug. It was...odd, to say the least, opening up to Dakota in this way, but at this point, why stop now?

"I'm afraid I won't be good enough. I'm afraid I won't be able to be everything they need. I had to step down as Head for this mission and pass the ball to George, didn't I? I don't think you can do that with a kid. You're either brilliant at it or you suck big, blubbering baboon balls, and I'm going to be the latter..."

Dakota screwed up his face, looking over at Fred like he'd just said something absolutely abominable. "Boy, are you _crazy_?" he demanded, his twangy accent in its fullest swing. "Shut your trap with that nonsense, come on now, you think your parents got some kinda instruction manual when they popped all of you out? You think any parents do? It's not one or the other, you're crazy! Of _course _there's a freakin' grey area! Hell, I'd say bein' a father is compromised of three things: gettin' barfed on, cuttin' the crusts off of sandwiches, and wonderin' how badly you screwed up that day on a scale of one-to-ten."

Fred stared at him, just blinking a few times. He had no idea what to say.

"Listen." Dakota's voice got lower, deeper, and more serious. He leaned forward, bearing his weight down from his elbows on his knees. "Bein' in the Corps? I've seen a little bit of shit. I've known guys who've seen A LOT of shit. Guys comin' home missin' body parts, Vets in wheelchairs..._listen_," he repeated, and lightly punched Fred's knee to make sure he was paying attention. "Some of those guys aren't as lucky as you. Some of 'em get all screwed up, they go home, and they feel _nothin_'. Nothin'. They leave parts of themselves out on the battlefield they got dragged away from, parts of themselves from _here_." He pounded on his heart. "I know you're scared. I know you're worried. You said that. But you know what you do now?"

"What?" Fred whispered.

"You take that pain, that ache. You take that fear. You take that worry. You take that pit in the bottom of your gut that feels like a black hole. And you know what you do with it all? You feel it...every bit of it. And you thank God. You thank God you can still feel somethin'. Because others aren't as lucky."

Dakota paused for a few more seconds, maintaining eye contact with Fred, and then shrugged casually, taking another sip from his flask.

"Just my two cents," he muttered.

Fred's feet seemed to know what they were doing before he did—he'd leapt from the table and was striding back over to the fireplace.

"Where you goin'?" Dakota asked.

Fred looked over his shoulder at him and grinned.

"To get my girl."

Normally he wouldn't let Dakota get away with such an ego boost, knowing how much he'd helped...but as Fred spun into the flames and left his friend behind, he relished in the smirk upon his scarred and sagging face, and realized, it was okay this time.

Just this once.

* * *

Before Fred had even ducked out from under the hearth, he heard the sound, and he knew something was wrong.

It was an awful sound, like a levee had broken from somewhere inside the flat—multiple thick, powerful-sounding gushes of water pounding on even larger bodies of water.

"Ava?" he called out in a cautious voice, taking a tentative half-step into the sitting room. His face was still burning slightly from where she'd slapped him, and he couldn't imagine what her anger would be like now, after leaving _again_.

Fred sighed heavily, knowing he must have upset her very much, and her magic, no doubt, had...he didn't know, exploded the plumbing, perhaps...

He could practically feel a tail tucking between his legs as he slowly passed through the sitting room and foyer. He headed for the bathroom, an image concocting itself in his head of seeing Ava standing in the bathroom when he arrived, soaked from head to toe and in a panic, clutching a wrench, maybe...the vision actually made him smile...

And then the dimly-lit hallway came into view. Fred's heart sank; no, it dropped, plunging down through his abdomen so hard he wouldn't have been surprised to see it flopping around on the hardwood floor like a fish out of water, pumping without a body.

The bathroom area had been completely decimated. Although the door was closed in the frame, it was hanging on to its hinges by barely-there splinters of wood. The hallway floor was littered with debris and an enormous puddle was quickly seeping down the hallway. Fred looked down at his feet, his eyes wide, looking at his shoes submerged in the water. It was as though he was standing in the middle of a small, indoor lake.

"Ava!" he screamed, jumping into action. He splashed through the puddle and clambered through the gaping hole in the door, a sick feeling in his gut, already knowing she wasn't going to answer.

The source of the water was instantly revealed: the faucets for both the tub and the sink were cranked on at full force, pouring forth water at too great a speed to allow the drains to catch up. Both basins were full, and thick waterfalls streamed over the edges and down to the ground, now leaking out into the hallway.

Trying his best to wish away the feeling that he was going to vomit, Fred extracted his wand and ceased the faucets' production with a wave. A terrible silence followed, the only sound in the room coming from the quickened, panicked breaths pumping from Fred's nose.

There was a large, dark object half-submerged in the water around Fred's feet. He crouched down to retrieve it, turning it over and over in his hands as his panic increased. It was the Floo totem, with the trio of monkeys. The very atmosphere of the flat felt tainted all of a sudden, dirty, knowing someone had been in here who was not welcome.

But who? There was Gridgeon, who would surely be on the warpath and out of hiding now that his son had been taken away from him...and there was Fox, no doubt still bloodthirsty and waiting for her perfect moment for revenge...Fred's stomach clenched at the thought that this attack was anticipated, it was _planned_...someone had waited for him to leave again, waited until Ava was defenseless...guilt and anger and desperation swam around and around in his mind like a terrible whirlpool, threatening to submerge him much like his sneakers beneath the surface of the water on the floor.

Fred desperately surveyed the ruined scene again, spinning around in a couple of circles fruitlessly. He found himself stupidly wishing Ava would jump out from behind the toilet tank and yell _'Surprise!'_. He caught his face in the mirror, hating the expression stretched across his features. Fred doubted he'd ever looked so aghast in his life.

A tiny glimmer of odd light caught his eye, like some kind of twinkle waving to get his attention from around the sink basin. And at first, he didn't see it—not until it glimmered again, the lightly carbonated potion swirling around inside its vial beside the soap dish. It was so full of life, such a flashy little potion, winking and shimmering and changing colors like a crystal being turned over and casting rainbows in the sunlight. Its name was so appropriate, really. _Vita._

Fred's fingers were trembling as they closed around the vial, bringing it up closely to his eyes. The cap was gone, discarded somewhere. Both the top half of the potion and the thin sheet of glass that was supposed to be residing in the middle of the bottle were gone. Fred's heartbeat impossibly quickened as the realization washed over him: Ava had been presented with such danger, such fear, she'd drunk this out of anticipation of dying. And she'd left the other half for someone else to consume, someone else to come to her rescue, someone who hadn't abandoned her like he had—

Dying.

The word from his previous train of thought came swinging back around. Ava thought she was in danger of dying.

_And Gridgeon,_ Fred quickly thought to himself, _didn't want to kill her, only ever wanted to immobilize her and take her back to Merryweather...to Gridgeon, she was too valuable to kill, too precious, he wanted to keep her and groom her to be one of his soldiers, like..._

Like Fox.

Fox wanted to kill her. Not Gridgeon.

"Argh!" Fred nearly screamed out in frustration. Fox had taken Ava away to die, but where? They could be anywhere...a filthy alleyway...an abandoned building...a remote cliffside...anywhere on this planet, in this galaxy...

_No,_ said a tiny voice inside Fred's head. _No, she wouldn't go just anywhere. Fox may be crazy, but she's smart...she plans things._

"She's calculating," Fred murmured aloud, acutely aware he was talking to himself now, one hand still limply clutching the trio of monkeys and the other grasping the potion. He vaguely wondered if he was on the verge of some kind of mental break.

But it was so very true, wasn't it? Gridgeon and Fox had always been different, in that way, Gridgeon was easily taunted, easily manipulated, a coward, even, occasionally sending others to do his dirtiest of deeds. But Fox...Fred remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on her on the island—the way she'd thrown a warning knife, the way she'd stepped out of the shadows...and then how she'd forced Ava to come and meet her, and timed it all perfectly, banking on Rita's arrival...

Every move Fox made choreographed. She had a flare for the dramatics.

So if she wanted to kill Ava, she'd do it somewhere relevant, somewhere climactic, the final act of her fucked up show before the curtain dropped. But somewhere smart, too, somewhere Gridgeon wouldn't think to find and interrupt her...somewhere he wouldn't suspect she'd want to ever be at...somewhere hidden...

Somewhere like the abandoned Merryweather compound.

The Floo totem slipped from Fred's grasp and made an impressive splash in the pool of water around Fred's feet. Something like an invisible walnut suddenly lodged itself in his larynx.

Perhaps the smart thing to do would be gather as many Order members as he could find. Make a plan. Assemble the cavalry and dig some trenches on the battlefield, you know?

But Fred didn't feel smart. He didn't feel capable of making a plan. He felt scared. He felt murderous. He felt irrational.

He downed the second half of the potion, letting the empty vial slip from his fingers when he was done and float somewhere among the Floo totem beneath him. He screwed up his face against the sharp, overly tart taste, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times.

Fred wasn't assembling the cavalry. He wasn't digging any trenches.

He was Disapparating.

He was going to Merryweather.

* * *

"I've always been a loser, you know. You asked me what happened to me. Nothing happened. I just got tired of being the victim all the time. I'm tired, Ava. I'd rather be a guard dog than a bait dog, know what I mean?"

Ava heard the words meet her ears, but she wasn't sure if she was imagining them or not. She was awaking from her unconsciousness, reality coming back to her in small trickles. First, she felt the hard, ice-cold ground beneath her. Then, those words came. And now, the pain was hitting her, growing in severity by the second, like a steam engine barreling down its tracks with no sign of slowing down or stopping.

Even though her eyes were already closed, she squeezed them shut even tighter. It felt like her head was inflating like a balloon, like her brain was swollen, like her skull was quadruple its normal size. Even just the sound of Fox's voice—not loud by any means—hurt her ears.

"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey. Come on, gutter-slug, I want to whine about my troubles. That's what two gals at a slumber party are _supposed_ to do, right?"

The memory of what had just happened—Fox's and Callaghan's invasion, getting cornered in the bathroom, drinking the Vita, the strike of the statue against the side of her head—came floating back to Ava. She knew she should be forcing herself awake, steadying herself for the inevitable oncoming fight...but her head, it was pounding now, and it was so heavy, how could she possibly manage to lift it from the ground...?

Fox sighed heavily. "You know, if you're the first one to fall asleep, you're totally getting pranked. Bra's going in the freezer, finger is going in some water, marker on your face...the whole shibang. I thought you'd be a teensy-weensy more excited to be home!"

_Home?! _Had Fox somehow managed to bring them across the ocean and to Vermont? Was Ava laying in her old house? This distant memory of Mike and Barbara's warm, smiling faces, talking about the farmer's market and offering her sodas swam by...Ava could only imagine what Fox could have done to them...

Ava let out in involuntary little groan as she used every bit of energy she could summon to push her torso off the cold ground with her forearms. They shook like they were made of jelly.

She licked her lips slowly, trying with all her might to wake herself up more. Her mouth felt dry, but the tiniest remnant of moisture left on her tongue hit the roof of her mouth, tasting the acrid aftertaste of the potion. She took a long, deep breath through her nose. And suddenly, everything changed.

It was as though her tongue had received some sort of electric shock that was quickly traveling throughout her mouth, and spreading to the rest of her body. The pain in her head was subsiding. Her arms stopped wobbling. Even the mental fog was lifting; Ava was not only feeling suddenly awake, she was feeling...euphoric. Like she could be or DO ...anything! It was beyond confidence, it was beyond bravery; her senses were feeling especially acute, she had never felt her pulse clearly pounding within her wrist like this—

Her eyes snapped open. She didn't have to wait for her vision to come swimming into view; it was like she had awoken with some kind of special magnifying goggles planted over her eyes; everything was so sharp, so vivid.

They certainly weren't in Ava's Vermont family home. A minuscule breath of relief escaped from Ava's lips, but then—even through the shining shield of courage the Vita was providing—the relief instantly dissolved, quickly becoming replaced by heavy, dark dread.

Fox sat on the ground directly across from Ava, her legs folded Indian-style and her posture particularly perky. She grinned and batted her eyelashes in a rapid, cartoonish sort of way.

"Welcome back, babe. Happy homecoming! So, bad news first: there's no cake. But good news! You won't be here for three years this time."

They were back where it had all started, nearly four years ago now: they were in their Merryweather Cube.

Ava slowly got to her feet, mouth gaping and slack-jawed as she took in her surroundings. A single florescent strip of white light above them had somehow become illuminated again-from what power source, Ava didn't know-but it was threatening to give out...it was flickering...

"Oh. That." Fox followed Ava's gaze, looking up at the ceiling at the light strip briefly. "Gave myself just enough juice to get us down here and get that thing going. For a little while, at least." She reached down into her shirt and extracted a necklace; it was a tiny glass tube on the end of a black cord. The glass was stained with red but was clearly empty. "Breakfast of champions."

Fox watched her amusedly as she continued to marvel at the Cube.

"I know, I know, this place is a dump and a half," Fox said, getting to her feet as well. She delicately dusted off her black pants as she stood. "Coulda used some sprucing up before our visit, I suppose. What's that they say about hindsight? When life hands you hindsight, make lemonade? No, that can't be right..."

"Fox," Ava said slowly, her eyes still traveling around their surroundings in disbelief. It was almost exactly like she remembered, except for the massive holes in the ceiling outside the Cube and resulting piles of rubble beneath them. Everything, from the glass walls of the Cube to the white-tiled floor outside, was covered in a thick layer of brown dust. Ava remembered the Order's visit to the ruined reception area, the talks of rioting, and the apparent cave-in.

"What have you done? You can't get out of here from the inside, you know that—"

"I DO know that!" Fox squealed gleefully. She threw her arms out dramatically at her sides like she was being crucified. "Welcome to the Hotel California! _Relax-We are programmed to receive! You can check-out any time you like, but you can never leave!"_

"So—so this is a suicide mission then?" Ava asked in disbelief. "What's your plan, murder me and then sit here and twiddle your thumbs until you starve to death?"

Their exchange had become similar to the night a few weeks ago in the alley—common sense was practically screaming at Ava to _**not taunt the person with a knife,**_ but Ava was feeling so angry right now, there was little room left for reason. She couldn't believe that after all she had been through, all she had worked for, she was going to go down like this, back where she'd started in the first place. Her heart broke for the future that was rapidly slipping from her grasp, like a hand trying to hold on to smoke—the scent of her baby in her arms she would never smell, the peals of laughter from the twins she would never hear again, the gnarled, wrinkly hands belonging to Fred she would never hold as they watched their grandchildren play.

Fox snorted and rolled her dark eyes. "Hardly. Cal will come _fetch_ me if I need him to, like the good little doggie he is."

"I thought he was dead this whole time," Ava said quietly. Part of her, admittedly, was interested in whatever explanations Fox had to give, but the greater part was simply biding for more precious time. George had probably attempted to come by the flat while Ava was sleeping and she'd missed him, but those streaming faucets? She was absolutely banking on a leak starting in the ceiling of the shop...someone would come up to the flat to check for the source of the water...see Fox's destruction...how they would track Ava down, she didn't know, but surely there was a magical way?

"He may as well be," Fox replied, her voice emotionless. "He's probably close enough. Looks like shit."

"Yeah, I saw."

"You know he can't even do Legilimency yet?" Fox fed her this tidbit of information like it was a piece of fantastic, juicy gossip. "He's still fighting it. Poor kid. He's gonna end up kicking the bucket before he gets to do any of the cool shit like me and you."

"It's not—" Ava started, but quickly paused, knowing she had to choose her words carefully. She knew Fox's quiet, casual demeanor was only temporary, and she was incredibly easy to set off into a psychotic rage. "It's not that cool," she said quietly, crossing her arms and avoiding Fox's eyes. "I hardly use it anymore, you know."

Fox chortled. "Ho-ho! Let me guess: you're too _noble_ to use it."

"I never wanted it!" Ava said, her voice rising in defense. "I didn't ask for this, I didn't grow up dreaming of a day where I could share a person's pain from across the room! It's _Merryweather,_ they didn't give us some great big gift, they _infected_ us—"

But she stopped abruptly as she watched Fox's expression change. She was wearing that smug little smirk she put on every time she knew something that Ava didn't know.

"What?" Ava asked tersely.

"Are you still on that bullshit that they gave us powers?" Fox asked, clearly enjoying every second of Ava's cluelessness.

"That's what it seemed like, and that's what _you_ said," Ava replied. She gave a second of pause to listen hard, and let her eyes flicker over Fox's shoulder in the direction of the hallway. Still nothing. "When we were in the alley, you said they were trying to give them to us. That was their end goal, wasn't it? They were trying to see if they could give military family Squibs powers to start their own little army of super-agents?"

Fox leaned forward, her eyes wide, innocent, and bright, like she was about to teach a small child about the alphabet. "We could always fly, my sweet little Dumbo," she whispered. "They just gave us the magic feather. You just picked up on it before the rest of us. And we always wondered why! But after you left, I stopped fighting it—in fact, I welcomed it with open arms, and now I see Callaghan, still fighting it and without powers—and you know what I think?"

Ava didn't even have to reply; she knew Fox was on a roll now and she was going to tell Ava exactly what she thought whether she asked about it or not.

"I think you never even fought it. You're not some special snowflake Chosen One. I think you let them do whatever the hell they wanted inside your squishy little brain from the get-go. You see, it's like unlocking a series of doors, with Squibs, you just have to get inside their noggin deep enough and wiggle around until you've planted the seed just right. Get them as numb and limp as you can, convince them they can do groovy Jedi-mind tricks until they start believing it too. Obviously they didn't know they succeeded until one of their test subjects used their own weapons against them—that would be you, sweetheart. And then it was Game Over."

"You're right," Ava said. "You're right, I didn't fight them. It's probably because the first time I tried to, they gave me this." She tilted her head back, extending her neck and displaying the thick pink scar banded around her throat. "I didn't really fancy my throat being slit, you see—"

"Because you're a—!"

"I'm not a coward," Ava said firmly. The Vita was giving her the courage to say it, finally, but the words were all her own.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and her feet splashed through the marsh on Christmas Eve. She turned her back on Gridgeon in the alleyway, screaming at Fred and George to run. Her fists flew into Dakota's palms as he chanted to her, over and over again, that she wasn't weak.

"I'm not a coward," she repeated. "You call me a coward because I didn't fight them, because I ran away from them, because I run away from you...but it's not out of weakness. It never was. It's out of strength." Ava paused for a second, taking a deep breath as Fox stared at her in disbelief, her voice getting stronger and stronger by the second.

"I do what I have to do to survive, over and over call me a coward because you think my strength is nonexistent; no, it's just my strength is a slow burning ember in the dark, and yours is a fireworks display. My strength is about sustainability. Yours is about a show." Ava straightened herself up further, posturing herself to her full height, and looking down at Fox, no trace of fear to be seen. The hallway outside the Cube remained dark, still, and quiet. No one was coming to her rescue.

"And I will _always_ be stronger than you."

Fox's face contorted in rage, and she let out a biting cry of fury. She plunged a hand into one of her holsters and extracted a dagger.

Ava didn't know much about battle, except that she probably wasn't any good at it. She was good at talking her way out of things and biding for time. She was good at escaping. She was good at knowing the right people and relying on them for their help at the right time.

But Fox was lunging at her now, her elbow crooked and the blade gripped at her side. Ava didn't have time to take a crash course in hand-to-hand combat. She had nowhere to run. And the Order was nowhere to be seen.

What she did have was the Vita coursing through her veins, and an incredibly powerful little life growing in her belly. And those two things were the perfect storm; all adrenaline and extra focus and luck and magic colliding, crashing together, making her eyes zero-in on of the many extra daggers Fox had strapped to her body.

Fox was halfway across the Cube floor, charging towards her, and the look of surprise that flitted across her face as one of her own blades betrayed her and flew into Ava's hand was just enough to distract her.

Ava let out a cry of her own, and charged forward as well. Although Ava hadn't come to terms with the idea of dying, she took just a grain of solace in knowing that, although they both had blades now, they would never, ever be marked as equals.

* * *

Fred had never run like this before.

He'd skipped away from his brothers gleefully among their promises of injury and revenge after his latest prank. He'd galloped down the halls of Hogwarts, George at his side, narrowly escaping Filch on what had felt like a weekly basis. He'd tore through the jungle of St. Kitts, his wand over his shoulder throwing curses and beads of sweat racing down between his shoulderblades.

But he was certain he'd never run like this.

"_Reducto!"_

He blasted yet another pile of rubble out of his way, and stormed through the resulting cloud of dust, shielding his face with his forearm. The light emitting from his wand bounced around the otherwise pitch-black corridor wildly as he ran, casting second-long glimmers of light on to various evidences from the Merryweather riots. Scorch marks and bullet holes pocked the walls. Almost every last inch of visible glass was smashed, occasionally crunching beneath Fred's sneakers. Twice a foul smell reached his nostrils, and he forced himself to carry on past what looked like a crumpled corpse or two, entangled and still in uniform.

Although he didn't have an exact idea of where he was going, he recalled from Ava's story the conclusion that she'd reached during her escape: that the Cubes were on the bottom level of the compound. So down and down Fred had went, flight after flight of staircase in a tight cement-walled channel. It was how he'd ended up here, dashing through the bowels of Merryweather, blasting rubble away from his path and trying not to look up at the cracked, sagging cement ceiling above him.

And running like this.

His calves, cramping. The seams of his pants, whining in protest at his abnormally long strides. The balls of his feet, slamming down on the gritty white tiled floor over and over again, exploding in pain. His jaw set. His teeth bared.

Running like this, so fast that he was nearly flying.

He could see a light flickering up ahead now. It illuminated a small space of tile beneath it for a second before flickering to black again, but Fred had already focused in on that square of floor. He was picturing it in his mind, he wanted it, he coveted it, and in mid-sprint he spun, a nearly perfect pirouette to Disapparate him to that spot, 100 yards away.

What would he see when he arrived? Would he be too late? Could he get close enough for the vita to work with its other half? Fred didn't think he'd ever been so scared in his entire life; his feet left the ground and in the split-second it took for him to Apparate to his destination, he saw a thousand things behind his eyelids: the wall coming down on him. The color of the sheets in the bed at St. Mungo's. The Whirly Puffer hovering over Ava's burns. The color of Ava's skin on her neck as he dipped her and kissed it during George's wedding. The hazel of Dakota's remaining eye, brown and green and gold, all at once. The smile of his twin. An empty whiskey bottle. Verity's artwork on the ceiling of his shop. The look on Audrey's face as she walked again. A barrel of golden Galleons spilling out on to the countertop. The vision of Ava in a white sundress in the field.

_'You take that pain, that ache. You take that fear. You take that worry. You take that pit in the bottom of your gut that feels like a black hole. And you know what you do with it all? You feel it...every bit of it.'_

His feet were landing—he was Apparating—he could feel the Vita pumping in every artery—

_'And you thank God. You thank God you can still feel somethin'. Because others aren't as lucky.'_

Fred opened his eyes, just in time to see Fox and Ava colliding like a pair of battering rams behind a glass wall, a knife glinting in each of their hands, each of their blades plunging into the others' body.

He screamed, and Disapparated again, this time arriving directly behind Ava. He caught her as she stumbled backwards, a blank look on her face in shock. A horrible gurgling noise came from her mouth as her legs swayed beneath her.

"Thank...you."

The words were spoken in a small, barely-there voice. Still cradling Ava's shoulders in his arms, Fred looked up in horror. Fox was standing there, a few feet away. A thin trickle of blood ran down her chin, and the knife Ava had been holding was lodged in her sternum.

The florescent light above them flickered, and there came a thumping noise. When it came back on, Fox was on her knees, slumped and with her head hanging forward. The stream of blood from her mouth became thicker, and she moaned as she elongated her neck backwards until she looked up towards the ceiling, as though she was waiting for the heavens to part and to see God's face. She looked different, somehow. All traces of malice, of calculation, of rage appeared to be wiped away. For the second before she fell over and died upon the floor, Fox just looked like a normal girl. She looked like Annie Wu.

Ava made a sound like she was releasing a deep, deep exhale, and her legs fully gave out, her grey-green eyes rolling in the back of her head. Fred sunk to the ground along with her, cradling her against him tightly as he collapsed to his knees.

"Ava! _Nooo!_"

Fox's knife was stuck askew in her ribs. Dark red blood leaked around the edges of the blade, and Fred sliced two of his fingers on the edge of it as he clamped his hand over the wound, pressing down in an attempt to stem the flow.

He attempted a half-turn on his knees, envisioning St. Mungo's and intending to Disapparate, but only succeeding in skidding across the floor a couple of inches. He tried again, with the same result.

He couldn't Disapparate from within the Cube.

Fred wailed a wordless cry of agony as the wet warmth of Ava's blood continued to push against his fingers. She was dying, and their child inside of her was dying, right there in his arms, and he was powerless to stop it.

"Somebody please fucking help us!"

He didn't know to whom he was crying out to. All he knew was that he felt like he was dying, right alongside Ava in the Cube.

The florescent light above them gave one last, pathetic flicker, before fully extinguishing and plunging them into total darkness.

Fred howled again, but it was a secret cry; for being in the Cube was like being in the throes of the deepest slumber: you are gone, you are silent, and you have disappeared, and the world around you will continue to turn.


	38. Chapter 38--Promise

**Chapters left after this: 3 (and an epilogue)**

**Chapter 38—Promise **

"George," Angelina hissed into the night. "George, wake up, do you hear that?"

She sat straight up, the mattress creaking beneath her. The quilt fell from her shoulders to her lap, and a layer of goosebumps arose from the exposed skin of her arms and neck around her nightdress.

"_George." _Angelina repeated her husband's name, a little louder this time, and reached down to squeeze his shoulder. His snores ceased momentarily as he let out a grunt.

"Wake up, do you hear—" she stopped short. He was snoring again.

Angelina scowled down at his sleeping figure, tucked tightly into the fetal position and face-down in the pillow. Truthfully, she should have known better- George was the heaviest sleeper she'd ever known, and frankly, she'd have better luck shaking a hibernating rose bush in wintertime and convincing it to bloom early.

She did a half-turn to her side, reaching over to her bedside table and settling back with her wand in her grasp.

"Sorry, love," she murmured in advance, and issued a sharp, magical _zap_ to his body as she jabbed him in the ribs.

"WUSSAMATTER?" George exclaimed groggily, twitching so hard he may have fully left the mattress for a moment, and flying into a sitting position beside his wife. Light pink lines from the creases of the pillowcase were etched into his cheek, and he was struggling to peel his eyelids apart all the way.

Angelina snorted. "Very graceful, you are. Stop for a second and _listen_."

He heeded her request and together, they paused, remaining very still, even making their breathing quieter.

But George didn't exactly have to strain his ears to hear what she was referring to. There was a violent shaking sound echoing through the house, coming from somewhere beneath them on the first floor.

"What the bloody hell..." he murmured, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, getting to his feet. He stood very still and cocked his head to one side, listening hard. He hadn't heard a sound like that in the house before. It reminded him of a door rattling against its hinges; something solid vibrating against something else, loudly, angrily...frantically, even, like it was desperate to be noticed.

He heard the mattress squeak behind him and bare feet padding against the wooden planks as Angelina walked around the edge of the bed and came to stand beside him. Her fingers were still tightly closed around her wand.

"Do you think maybe...maybe there's a boggart in the basement?" she whispered in a slightly frightened voice. "We never finished cleaning it out, after all, maybe—"

"No, that's not it," George interjected in an identically soft voice. He paused for a second longer before snatching up his own wand and making his way out into the hallway, Angelina following closely behind.

The noise grew louder and louder as they descended the stairs. Its power became even more alarming as they reached the bottom, and hesitated in the foyer—the floor beneath their feet had taken on something of a tremor as well, the force behind whatever was making the noise creating a buzzing sensation from under their toes.

"George...what is _that_?" Angelina breathed.

"I see it," he replied quickly.

Their eyes were focused in the same direction; there was a shimmery, silvery-blue light dancing around the sitting room across from them.

George's heart started to beat very fast as he crossed the foyer. Together, he and Angelina entered the sitting room through the rounded archway in the wall.

The source of the violent quaking sound and twinkling lights was instantly revealed: Fred's old Beater's bat, the one he'd polished and gifted George on the eve of his wedding, was glowing and shaking within its wrought-iron hooks mounted above the sofa. It's incessant trembling made it look like a living thing, like a wild beast desperately trying to break free from a cage. The nails holding it in place on the wall had even started to wriggle loose.

"Why is it doing that?" Angelina cried out, needing a surprising amount of volume behind her voice to be heard over the vibrating of the bat against the wall.

George's heartbeat had impossibly quickened; there was only one reason the bat would be going off in alarm.

"It's Fred," he replied loudly, a puddle of dread dripping into his gut. "He's in trouble."

Angelina watched in bewilderment as George suddenly sprang into action, running back into the foyer and quickly returning, a cardigan thrown on over his pajamas as he hopped around trying to shove his right foot into a shoe.

"It's bewitched," he panted, working on his left one now. "When I touch it, it'll take me to him—"

"Hold on a second!" Angelina protested, throwing out her arm and catching him around the shoulders as he strode towards the wall where the bat remained quaking. "You don't know where that's going to take you, you have no idea what you're walking into!"

"Does it matter?" George exclaimed, shaking himself free of her grasp. "Ange, it's not going off because he's had himself a nightmare or given himself a papercut." He licked his lips quickly, remembering how the bat had first reacted when Fred had held a knife to his own throat to demonstrate its effects. "It's a danger of death sort of thing. I have to go."

Angelina's dark brown eyes were welled up with tears. She bit down on her bottom lip hard as she nodded minutely.

"I have to," George repeated, and hurriedly crushed a kiss against her forehead.

"What can I do?" she asked in a pleading voice. "I want to help, I..." Her voice broke. "I don't even know where you're going."

"Go to Ava, she might know something," George instructed quickly. "Then Lee. Tell him what's happened, and tell Ron and Harry as well...Ginny...Dakota...gather the regulars and fan out, look for us and try to meet up. The Alley, the flat...ask whose seen him last and go from there."

"Okay," Angelina whispered. She took a deep, shuddering breath, clearly attempting to summon courage from somewhere and wiping her face on her forearm. "Okay. We'll find you."

"I know you will," George replied in a grim voice, and he closed his fingers around the handle of the bat.

000000000000

If you were to ask Fred Weasley who he was, you wouldn't get a serious answer. At least not at first.

_'Well, I'm amazing, to begin with,' _he'd reply. '_Just short of being a God.'_

If you managed to keep a straight face and not give into his shenanigans, you could ask him again.

_'I'm a Weasley. Best of the bunch, really, only other one that compares is my twin George, and he only got his greatness from sharing a womb with me. I'm also a pretty big asshole, does that count?'_

Tell him to stop fucking around. Tell him you don't have time for his jokes.

Who are you, Fred?

_'An inventor,'_ he'd say, finally conceding. '_I'm an inventor.'_

Fred had invented all sorts of things. He'd invented hats that made you appear headless, he'd invented jelly beans that forced you to communicate only in bird calls, he'd even invented a way to cheat death itself with Vita.

But there was one thing he needed now that he just couldn't make: a way out.

"_L-lumos."_

Fred's wand pathetically flickered to life in the pitch-black darkness, not glowing to its full potential as though spiting him for his half-hearted incantation. He held the dim light over Ava's face. Her dust and blood streaked hair was fanned out behind her in tangles upon the white tiled floor, and she was as white as a ghost.

"Ava...Ava come on baby, stay with me, please...stay with me..." He kept his right hand firmly clamped down around the knife sticking out from her ribs, and with his left, raised his wand higher to spread out the light. He was searching for...something, he didn't even know what. Some kind of sign, something he missed, a flicker of hope, maybe?

Fox's lifeless body remained face-down only a few feet away. There was a puddle of crimson blood slowly leaking out from under her making its way over in his and Ava's direction.

"CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?" he screamed, wincing as pain tore at his throat and mentally cursing himself for being so pathetic, so stupid. Of course no one could hear him; if cries of help were audible to the world above the compound, Ava and the others wouldn't have had to spend three years here.

He raised his shaking wand arm to point at the thin seam in the glass where the inoperable door was, teasing him.

"_Diffindo."_

The dim light issuing from his wand disappeared, plunging them into total darkness once more, but only for a moment. A jet of bright pink from his spell replaced it, streaking towards the front of the Cube. He watched it with bated breath.

The spell made a highly unpleasant sound as it collided with the glass, like a coin being dropped into a glass bowl from a great height. The Cube illuminated spectacularly with neon pink as it ricocheted around for a few seconds, bouncing off the walls at lightning speed before finally dying out and plunging them into darkness again.

"_Lumos," _Fred repeated angrily. He glared at the seam in the glass like it was personally responsible for all of his troubles, thinking hard. He'd already tried _Expulso, Flipendo, Confringo, Reducto_...hell, he'd even just flailed his wand non-verbally in the general direction, willing the ever-loving shit out of the door to just spring open. All of them, with fruitless results.

"_Alohomora?"_ he tried, making it sound more like a question than a command, his spell-casting confidence at a new low. The silver jet of light that issued from his wand did the same as the others: flew around the Cube like a boomerang without purpose, searching wildly for a target as though it didn't recognize the glass walls as a real surface to land upon. One thing was certain: the enchantment used within the Cube to block any magic from the inside was a riddle he just couldn't untangle.

"Aarrgh!" Fred cried out, resisting the urge to snap his wand in half. He slammed it down on the floor beside him and threw his torso down, doubling over and burying his head in the crook between Ava's neck and shoulder. He knotted his free hand in her hair and sobbed, soaking her skin with a mixture of snot and tears that now poured from his face.

"I'm sorry," he moaned to her, knowing full well she wouldn't hear him in her unconscious state. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

A thousand emotions were exploding within him, swirling and howling like a storm and banging around in his skull like an angered battering ram. Frustration, for feeling powerless...Anger, at Fox, at the Cube, at himself...And regret, so much regret that it was physically hurting him somewhere in his chest. He regretted ever leaving Ava alone and vulnerable in the flat, he regretted even going to see her in St. Mungo's after rescuing her from Gridgeon in the alleyway six months ago...maybe if he'd never inserted himself in her life, she would have had a better chance, and she wouldn't be dying in the very same place she'd worked so hard to escape...and he wouldn't be losing two of his loves right now, Ava and their child growing within her...he was losing his _family_...

A silvery light began glowing from in front of his tightly closed eyelids, slowly but getting stronger and brighter by the second. He thought dully to himself that this was the end...this was death...perhaps he'd given himself a heart attack, or his brain had simply decided to stop working.

_It's fine,_ Fred thought to himself vaguely. _It's better this way. _He couldn't deny the sensation of relief that was spreading over him like a warm blanket; the thought of death was comforting at this point. It would end...the pain would end, and so would his reign of terror that he seemed to drag around with him, destroying everyone and everything that he touched...

A deafening crack of shattering glass exploded around his ears, and before he could even raise his head, he could feel shards raining down upon him like someone had blasted large granules of sand in his direction. He ceased his breathing against Ava's neck for one second, two, three, then straightened up and looked around.

The center of the glass wall before him was destroyed, and standing on the other side in the middle of the hole and looking completely bewildered, was George. He was holding his wand out before him, not lowered yet as though he was still in shock, and limply grasping what looked like a Beater's bat at his side. A grey knitted cardigan loosely hung from around his shoulders, and his mouth was agape as he surveyed the scene, like he didn't know what to take in first.

The twins stared at one another in a dead silence for a few moments before Fred spoke first.

"Bloody hell, George," he sobbed nonsensically. They were the first and only words that came to mind.

He would have liked to spring into action—his perfect self would have leapt to his feet, cradling Ava in his arms and charging out of his new-found exit, getting her help, getting them out...but Fred did none of those things. He choked out the words and then felt his face dissolving, melting into wrinkles as he collapsed into sobs again. He was like a toddler, on his knees and crying. He was feeling too much...or maybe nothing at all, he didn't know which...he'd made peace with his death, wished for it, even, and now it was over...they were saved...but his legs weren't working...

"Get up." George's voice appeared in his ear. He'd apparently climbed through the gaping hole and into the Cube while Fred had lost his wits again. "Collect yourself mate, get Ava and get up. We're getting out of here."

Grateful for the voice of reason and firm hand of direction, Fred fumbled for his wand and slid one arm behind Ava's shoulders. He reluctantly removed his other hand from the wound in her side and whimpered as blood began to spill out around the edges of the blade.

"George," Fred gurgled, feeling utterly mad. "George, the blood...the baby...she'll lose it...she'll die—"

"Move," George ordered. Not waiting for a response, he bent down and nudged Fred aside, lifting Ava into his arms and standing again, taking long strides towards the hole he'd created.

"Make us a Portkey, Fred, and do it fast," George said over his shoulder as he clambered over the ragged edge of the hole, Ava's long, dirtied hair swinging over the edge of his arm.

Fred stared after him dumbly for a few seconds before crawling forward on his hands and knees feverishly, smearing himself in the puddle of Fox's blood along the way before scrambling to his feet. He followed George out of the hole and into the thin hallway before it, and pointed his wand at a chunk of rubble from the caved-in ceiling above them.

"_Portus."_

It vibrated against the ground, glowing for a second before fading.

"On three," George said, balancing on one leg and reaching the tip of his foot towards the rubble. Fred nodded to him weakly and raised his arm. "One, two—"

The whole thing felt surreal to Fred, like one big nightmarish deja-vu. It was oddly repetitive, to be taking a Portkey together with an unconscious Ava in their arms, and the way Fred had fumbled around and found himself being anchored by George. They'd come full circle in the strangest of ways.

Then they were gone, leaving the abandoned compound and Fox's lifeless form far behind them. And even in the chaos, even in the shocked state of mind he still couldn't quite pull himself from, even in the blitz of travel, Fred firmly knew it was the last time they would ever see either.

000000000000

A muscle was twitching on Ava's face between her nose and upper lip. It curled slightly, and her nose did something of a half-scrunch, like she was getting a whiff of something interesting.

Fred's heart did a somersault in his chest. His freckled fingers tightened around the paper cup of tea in his hands.

The twitch traveled from her nose to the side of her left eye. Her temple pulsed, and seemed to tug at her eyebrow. Fred could see her eyes beginning to roll around behind her closed eyelids. Any second now, she'd be awake.

And what could Fred possibly say? That he was sorry, again? For leaving, again? He'd never felt more embarrassed or apologetic in his life. He found himself wishing he had an extra vial of Vita on hand to give him the courage he so desperately needed.

His heart began to race, and he gripped the cup of tea even tighter, its intense warmth a whisper away from burning his hands.

_The tea is hot. The tea is hot._

_The cup is purple._

_The cup is paper._

_Fuck. Ouch._

_Oh well,_ he thought to himself. _Let it burn_. He could blame George for his flambeed fingers later.

When they'd exploded through the front doors of St. Mungo's, Ava still unconsciously lounging and bleeding in George's arms, it was barely a beat of time before she was being whisked away on a hovering gurney, surrounded by Healers. Fred had watched them go with an open mouth and struggling to catch his breath for some reason.

"They'll fix her," George had said quickly. "They can fix anyone."

"Not everyone," Fred whispered back, still staring at the empty hallway Ava had disappeared down.

"They fixed you," George countered with raised eyebrows.

A few moments of silence had passed. The twins determinedly ignored the numerous sets of eyes in the waiting area and from behind the front desk staring at them—George in striped pajamas and a cardigan hanging on to a Beater's bat, and Fred with his clothes practically soaked in both Ava and Fox's blood—what a sight they must have been. Fred could have sworn he heard one of the receptionist witches clucking her tongue, like she was wondering why the two of them were always bursting in looking like they'd survived an apocalypse with unconscious Ava in tow.

"I need to go," George had finally said, taking a hesitant step back towards the front doors. "I need to find Ange, tell her to call off the search and tell her what's happened—" He'd stopped short all of a sudden, and stared at Fred with great interest as though seeing him for the first time.

"You're—you're not dying."

"Not yet," Fred had replied. "When she wakes up and decides to smack me so hard my grandchildren will feel it, you might as well start planning my bloody funeral now—"

"No," George interrupted, still examining Fred and now taking steps closer and closer. "It's just...I found you with this." He'd held up the Beater's bat and waved it a little. "Thought it was only supposed to work if _you_ were in danger of dying? Why if Ava was the one..." He'd trailed off, all fascination suddenly melting from his face as the realization that the bat apparently worked not only for Fred, but for his unborn child as well, dawned on him. "Oh."

"You know...if the baby dies..." Fred had trouble speaking again. His throat felt tight and painful. "It'll be all my fault."

"That's not true," George had replied immediately. "Fred, that's not true and you know it, you're not the one who stabbed her—"

"I bloody may as well have," Fred choked out. Suddenly, everything was sinking before his eyes, and it took him a moment to realize his knees were collapsing under him. The witches behind the reception desk had peered over the edge at him in concern, and George crouched beside him.

"George? What do I do when she sees me?"

"Just..." George had struggled to find the perfect words. "Just hold on to something real."

"Something real," Fred had repeated after him.

"Yeah. Look...I can't tell you what to say. That's between you and her. What I can tell you is that you need to be strong. No matter what happens with the child. She's been through enough. She's just killed her friend, by the looks of it. You need to be a man and be the strong one here, alright? Don't give her something else to worry about."

Fred had nodded, knowing what George was saying was true but having no idea where he was going to summon any sort of strength from.

"I'm feeling a little mad, George," Fred had admitted.

"I know. That's why I told you to hold on to something real. Don't give into any kind of crazy thoughts you may have, don't be an impulsive prat. Just...the color of the walls. Count the tiles in the floor. Anything. Something real."

_The tea was hot. The cup was purple. It was made of paper._

Those things were real.

Fred reminded himself of those things, as Ava opened her eyes and all he wanted to do was fly from the room.

Her breathing changed. She opened her mouth and sucked in a long, deep breath, while keeping her light green eyes trained on the ceiling. Fred held his own breath while watching her, waiting for her to say something.

"I thought I'd died."

She sounded confused. She licked her lips quickly and blinked a few times, still not taking her eyes off the ceiling.

"I thought I'd died," she repeated, and finally flopped her head to the side of the pillow, gazing at Fred, her eyebrows raised slightly like she was waiting for some kind of explanation.

"I thought you might have, too," Fred whispered back. It was taking every stitch of self-control in his body to keep himself from launching out of his chair and throwing himself on top of her sobbing, like he had in the Cube. He didn't yet know if she hated him or not.

"And Fox...?"

Ava didn't have to finish the question. Fred knew exactly what she was asking.

"She's dead."

She nodded minutely. Her left hand rose slowly from her side and gingerly touched down on her side where the knife had been.

Fred took a large, painful gulp of the searing hot tea. "I took the Vita," he choked out. It felt like a fireball was traveling down his throat. "Your other half."

"How did you know where I was?"

Ava's neutral tone, the look of almost serenity on her face, was absolutely killing Fred. His whole body felt like a live wire; he was jiggling his knee up and down incessantly and drumming his fingers against the side of the tea. He felt as though he'd rather have her scream at him at this point.

_Run away._

_No, don't fucking run away._

_The tea is hot. The tea is hot. The cup is paper._

"I—I just knew," was all he could say.

Ava kept staring at him, and Fred was now jiggling his leg so hard the chair was making squeaking sounds beneath him.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked. She didn't sound like she was accusing him of anything. She was just gazing at him incredulously, watching his jittering with her forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"Ava," Fred croaked. He took another large swig of tea, emptying the cup. His mouth felt incredibly dry. "When Fox hurt you...when she s-stabbed you...I Apparated into the Cube. I caught you as you fell."

Her expression didn't change. "I don't remember that."

"Thought you wouldn't," Fred said quickly. He turned the empty cup over and over in his hands. "Ava, when you fell, you let out this sort of...noise. A deep exhale, I dunno, it was like your body was letting go of whatever it had left." Fred could feel them, rising in the back of his mind slowly like a wave in the sea: the hysterics. His voice broke, and tears filled his eyes. He felt utterly mad. "It sounded like—it sounded like the last breath you would ever take, you know? And I just..." He stopped to quickly wipe the tears from his face with his forearm. "I cracked like a bloody egg. George kept telling me to hold on to something real, something to steady myself, to be the strong one for you, but I can't, Ava, I can't..."

Fred couldn't keep himself away from her any longer. He needed to touch her, he needed to smell her skin, he needed to see the grey flecks in her eyes, and if she pushed him away and told him this was all his fault then so bloody be it...

He rose from his chair, made the three strides to her bedside, and immediately collapsed down to his knees, pressing his face against her arm and sobbing.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice muffled as his lips attempted to move against her skin.

"I know," Ava replied softly. Her free hand found its way to his head and gently threaded into his hair.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. Saying it just once didn't feel like enough, for some reason. He took a slow, deep breath, reveling in the sensation of her fingertips brushing against his scalp.

"Fred?"

"Mm?"

"What happened to...did Fox...?" She was struggling for words. Fred lifted his head to look at her.

"Did I lose...is it gone?" Ava's voice ended in a squeak, and she bit down on her bottom lip.

Fred sandwiched her one hand between the both of his and squeezed. "I don't know," he whispered. "The Healers said only time will tell."

She suddenly stirred, scrunching up her face in discomfort as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"What are you doing?" Fred asked her, placing his hand on her back to help her steady herself.

Ava was craning her neck to scan the hospital room.

"Get me something...anything...the cup you left by the chair..."

Fred obliged, and sunk back down to his knees beside her bed when he returned, kneeling at her elbow. She took the paper cup and stared at it for a few seconds, rubbing her thumb back and forth across the St. Mungo's logo for a little while.

"You know how sometimes you don't know how much something means to you until you're about to lose it?" Fred lamented aloud softly. He watched her thumb move for a few more seconds and then finally bucked up the courage to look up at her face. Their eyes met.

Then she closed hers, the light purple of her veins standing out against the ivory of her eyelids. Her thumb stopped its stroking, and her knuckles turned white on the cup as she gripped it hard it concentration.

Fred barely had the time to draw breath before a crackling sound ensued; he gaped down at the cup in Ava's hands in bewilderment as a sheet of ice grew over its surface, rock hard and covered in frost.

"Ava," he breathed. "Ava, look, Ava!" His heart was exploding in joy and relief. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear a Filibuster's Firework was soaring between his ribcage.

Still looking frightened, Ava cracked open her eyes slowly, cautiously, until the coldness in her hands seemed to register. She let out a wordless little scream, and Fred, still on his knees at her bedside, reached up to grasp her by the shoulders and pull her down to him. He crushed his lips to hers in a kiss, their faces breaking apart momentarily to laugh together nonsensically, their tears spilling into each others mouths.

"I love you both," Fred whispered between his breathless laughs of relief, and placed his hand on her stomach. Her hand joined his, and their fingers intertwined. She kissed him again.

This. This was real.

Maybe the cup hadn't been hot enough, or hadn't become icy enough, or purple enough, or papery enough. Whichever it was, what Fred had previously perceived as real fell apart like a dried out, crumbling cake, and was instead replaced by the smell of Ava's hair, the saltiness of her lips against his, and the warm weight of her arm reaching around to rest between his shoulder blades, gripping the fabric of his shirt joyously. This was real; it was the realest fucking thing he'd ever felt and he'd never been more glad to be rid of the wall that had stubbornly sat in front of his heart six months ago. He'd move mountains and fight armies and swim through tidal waves for this, to be feeling this, everyday for the rest of his life.

"Marry me."

The words came out all on their own. Ava's hand suddenly ceased its journey across his back.

"Marry me," Fred repeated, pulling himself away from her face to look into her eyes. "I'm already on my bloody knees so I'm asking you the question."

Ava broke out in a laugh again, her eyes shining with tears, and Fred grinned back at her as she reached forward to brush his hair away from his face tenderly. She kept her hand there, resting it warmly on his cheek.

"Be my wife. Let me fight you for the toilet forever."

"That sounds enticing," she whispered back. Her smile could have brought flame to a match.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

Fred cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her, his thumbs tucked behind her jaw as he slowly rose to his feet. They finally broke apart and he perched himself on the edge of her bed, patting his lap. She promptly curled up like a cat, pulling the blankets back up and resting her head on his thigh.

He began to stroke her hair. "We'll need to get you a diamond," he said after ten minutes of comfortable silence.

Ava shook her head against his leg. "I don't need a diamond," she sighed. "Why do people get them, anyway?"

Fred shrugged. "Dunno. A sign to the public of their commitment?"

"But I've got one of those already." She sat up to rest her head on his shoulder, and whispered into his ear. "It's growing around my middle."

Fred rolled his eyes but grinned widely, turning his head to face her. She was resting her chin on his shoulder and smirking, her eyes alight.

"You know, between the both of us, I think we're going to have the world's biggest smartass for a child," he said.

"I know," Ava murmured, and kissed Fred on the tip of his nose. "I love you both."

000000000000

"I thought I'd find you out here."

Fred turned his head so fast he felt a crick in his neck. George was walking towards him, weaving his way around the overgrown rosebushes poking into the hospital garden's path.

"George!" said Fred, leaving the stone bench and jumping to his feet.

George grinned as he came close. "Have you collected all your marbles, then?"

The twins stared at each other for a moment before bursting into hysterical laughter. Fred practically leapt forward to embrace his brother.

"Ava's okay," Fred told him, the firework going off in his chest again from saying the words aloud. "The baby's okay, everyone's okay, George—!"

"I know," George said, thumping his twin on the back heartily and pulling back to arm's length to look at him. "We went upstairs first to look for you. Healers told us everything. You did good, mate."

Fred shook his head. "It wasn't me. It was the Vita. I got there just in time."

George squeezed one of his shoulders. "_You_ did good. Come on, let's sit."

Fred returned to his seat on the stone bench, and George joined him. He fished for something in his pockets before pulling out a pack of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. He popped a piece in his mouth, then held the pack out to Fred, who politely waved it away.

They didn't speak at first. The mid-autumn sun was already beginning to set, layering the sky beyond the garden hedges with swirls of fiery sherbert. Swallows swooped in and out of the birdhouses nestled between the tree branches above them, and the decorative fountain down the path gurgled loudly.

"Is she still sleeping?" Fred asked.

George nodded nonchalantly. "Like a log."

George, whose mouth was already completely blue, was slowly and steadily blowing air into a bubble that was threatening to become larger than his own head. Fred could smell the sugary scent of the blowing gum from where he sat.

"George? I'm sorry for going a little loony back there."

George pinched off the bubble with his lips, and the twins watched it float away amongst the rosebushes.

"What, you want me to blame you for that?" George finally replied. "Can't say I wouldn't have done the same if I'd seen Ange in that state."

"You wouldn't have," Fred said quickly. "You would have held it together." He paused for a moment. "You always do."

"And you think you did the opposite of 'holding it together'? What's that then, falling apart? Don't play yourself a victim, Fred, don't be angry at yourself you saw her dying on the floor and you didn't 'hold it together'-"

"It wasn't just that I didn't," Fred interjected. "I...I couldn't! Argh, gimme a piece, I've changed my mind." He snatched the pack of Drooble's from his twin's hand and mashed a square between his teeth angrily. His mouth instantly filled with saliva as the sourness of the blue flavor enveloped his tongue.

George appeared to be pensive for a bit, his forehead scrunched together like he was in deep thought as he blew more bubbles, released them, and watched them gently bob away into the sunset. Finally, he simply shrugged.

"So what."

Fred was flabbergasted. "So what? What do you mean, 'so what'? George, you don't get it, it's absolutely maddening to be like this, to always be teetering between sanity and going bonkers, it feels like my mental health is a bloody beach ball being balanced at the tip of a seal's nose...sometimes I feel like I'm well again, and then something like this happens and I'm rendered useless—"

"'_Well again'_?" George interrupted. He let out a humorless laugh and shook his head. "You mean, you want to go back to being the man you were before the Battle? What is it, you want to be 16 and crouching in a closet, hiding from Filch and setting off Dungbombs?"

"No," Fred replied dejectedly. "No, it's not like I want to turn back time, I wouldn't trade the world for her..." He trailed off as Ava's face came floating into his mind, the firmness of her puckering belly he'd felt beneath his hand still fresh and warm in his mind. "I don't want to _go_ back, I just want to _be_ back, you see? And it stinks like dragon dung George, thinking I'm there and then having it ripped away, falling apart again...I just want to be who I used to. She deserves it." He paused for a moment. "My child deserves it."

"Ava and the baby you're having don't need anyone but just you trying your best," George said gently. Fred knew his twin was trying to be encouraging, but it was hard to take him seriously when his entire mouth was the color of a blueberry.

"But my best isn't back to normal," Fred sighed.

"There!" George exclaimed. "That's your problem, mate! There is no 'normal', don't you see? You keep saying you want to be back, like it's some kind of place, or a destination, but Fred, there is _no going back_!"

"Well why the bloody hell not?" Fred said angrily. He wasn't upset with George, he was upset with what he deep-down knew to be truths that George was forcing him to see.

"Because of _these_, mate." George reached over and tugged down Fred's shirt collar, tapping his finger on one of the translucent, milky white scars criss-crossing against his freckled chest. "You've got scars. You're marked. Things will never be the same, no matter how hard you wish or how happy you become. And the longer you keep acting like 'being well' is a bloody destination upon a hilltop, the longer you'll keep torturing yourself."

"So I'm just supposed to accept sticking out as the mental sore thumb of the family, am I?" Fred asked sourly. He plucked his piece of gum from his mouth and smeared it along the underside of the bench.

"Why don't you get out of that head of yours and take a good look around?" George asked. "You're not the only one with scars. On your brain OR body."

"Aren't I?"

George pointed to the side of his head, gesturing towards the spot where his ear was absent. "No, you're not. I don't give a damn about my missing ear, Fred, but you don't think the memory of seeing Mad-Eye's body fall from his broom and out of the sky doesn't play before my closed eyelids every now and then?"

Fred was quiet. "I forgot you saw that," he finally said.

"Lucky you," George said coolly. He pointed to the towering hospital building behind them. "And you think sitting up there with our collective thumbs stuck up our collective arses waiting to see if the Healers could save you or not after the Battle didn't do something to me, to Dad, to Mum? To everyone? You may have been the one buried by that wall, mate, but you weren't the only one bearing it's weight that night."

Fred couldn't think of anything to say just yet, but luckily, George continued.

"Think about Dakota. The poor man literally got his face melted off for your sake, don't you think you owe him a bit of credit, too? And Ava, for Merlin's sake, even if she can get that blasted neck tattoo removed, even if she makes that ugly scar across her neck disappear, that doesn't take away the three years she spent locked away being a lab rat. You can bring her all of the kisses and happiness and children in the world, Fred, but it won't change any of that, and it won't change the fact that she just killed her friend and left her body behind to rot."

George took a break for a few moments, and then sighed heavily, looking over at his twin with what looked like empathy. "No offense, Fred, but being a little bonkers doesn't make you special around these parts. In fact, it makes you quite ordinary." He slowly broke out into a grin and nudged Fred's knee. "You're absolutely insane, just like the rest of us."

In spite of himself and his determination to brood, Fred laughed. "So...so what are you saying, I need to learn to embrace the madness?"

"I'm saying, you need to learn to ask for HELP, Fred, and not feel so ashamed when it's given," George said in his gentle voice again. "_That _is what Ava and your child deserves."

There was nothing left to say. Fred knew his twin was right in everything he was saying, and very much like the last bits of daylight holding on to the horizon, the time for feeling sorry for himself had officially come to an end.

He drew in a deep breath and slowly rose to his feet, brushing the dust and leaves from the bench away from the seat of his pants.

"Fred." George caught his arm as he stood up, too. "Can you promise me you'll do that?"

"Do what?"

"Promise me you'll ask for help if you need it. We've come full circle, now, it would be a terrible opportunity to waste without a little growth."

George was giving him a funny look, and Fred knew why: The feeling of deja-vu had returned... "full circle", as George had put it. First it was the departure with Ava and the Portkey, and now they stood in the St. Mungo's garden, only this time, they weren't screaming at one another.

_'You're supposed to be on my side! You're supposed to have my back! I've learned by now not to watch out for myself because I know you'll always do it for me, and that's how you play me? But I suppose I can't be surprised. You can't help me when you've given up on helping yourself, eh?'_

The memory of George's words momentarily cut into Fred like a knife until he shook himself back into the present. If George was right and wellness wasn't a destination, but rather, a lifelong journey, the least he could do was accept some partners for the trip. And who better than those who loved him?

"I promise."

George grinned, and together, they began strolling out of the garden and back towards the hospital.

"You're a good brother, you know," Fred said earnestly. "A good man."

"I know." George winked. "Add it to the list of my amazing traits."

"Well, since we have the list out, how about adding some more?" This time, Fred grabbed George and they came to a stop. "What do you think about Best Man? And Godfather?"

George didn't hesitate; he practically leapt on Fred, squeezing him around the shoulders with Herculean strength as though he was trying to deflate him.

"Can't—breathe—George—"

"Sorry, sorry!" George released him and stepped back. Even in the dim twilight, Fred could plainly see a joy and sense of pride on his twin's face he'd only seen a few times before.

"Come on," George said excitedly, charging forward towards the hospital doors with a newfound intensity, "Let's get inside and tell Mum you've asked me. Give her something else to bawl over—"

"Mum?" Fred stopped dead in his tracks. "She's here? And what do you mean, something else to bawl over..." He trailed off as it suddenly dawned on him. "George...when you first came out here...you said 'we'...and that the Healers told you all everything...what exactly were you referring to?"

George crossed his arms and smirked at Fred, looking nothing short of amused. "Well, when I left you to go call off the search, the whole family was out looking for you and Ava by that time." His smirk grew wider. "What would you say if I told you—hypothetically, of course—that they _all_ accompanied me here back to the hospital, and they were _all_ within earshot when the Healer thought I was you and rushed to tell me both Ava _and_ the baby were okay?"

"Oh, Merlin." Fred smacked a hand to his forehead. "You said Mum's bawling? Is she—is she upset?"

George snorted. "_Upset_? Try 'elated'. Fred, that woman was born to rear grandchildren. Come on, let's get inside and give her a chance to squeeze you until you pop."

000000000000

The old man sat hunched on a stool at the far end of the greenhouse. He leaned his weathered face close to a thick cluster of ferns, and as Ava watched, the Healer standing beside him conjured a watering can with her wand and began sprinkling them. She leaned down and talked animatedly to her patient, nodding and gesturing towards the plants energetically. But it was evident to Ava that although the old man's eyes remained closely trained on the ferns, Rudolph Zonko's mind was elsewhere; somewhere far, far away.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Fred asked uncertainly.

"Ehh...'want' isn't the operative word here." Ava looked up at Fred and smiled nervously. "I just need to talk to him before we leave. I need to know why he took Knox."

"Maybe we can just come back another day to speak with him," Fred murmured back. Now he was staring at Zonko, looking unsettled at the blank gaze in the old man's eyes. "When you're feeling better."

"I'm feeling fine." Ava gave Fred's hand a reassuring squeeze. "And don't say that word."

"What word?"

"_Back._" She grinned. "We're not stepping foot in here again until the baby's born, you hear me? I'll die before I have to wake up here and look at your puppy-dog eyes fearing my certain death one more time."

"Oh, shut up." Fred gave her foot a playful kick with his own. "Let's get on with it, then."

Keeping their hands clasped together tightly, the pair pushed through the revolving glass door and stepped into the greenhouse. The transition from the hall to the enormous glass-ceilinged building was a world of difference; much of the oxygen seemed to get sucked out of their lungs as the temperature and humidity increased substantially. The air itself felt sticky. Far on the left side with the windows open, letting in the cool air against them, were about a dozen rows of vibrant cold weather flowers: blue Crocuses, crimson Dahlias, pink and yellow Begonias, and delicate white Snowdrops. Fred and Ava weaved their way around countless troughs of fruits and vegetables, making their way over to Zonko and his caretaker.

"Don't get your hopes up, love," Fred whispered. "You heard what the Healer said upstairs as well as I did, he's as mad as a hatter..."

"All the more reason to talk to him," Ava whispered back. "Find out why his own son tortured him to insanity..."

The Healer with the watering can looked up upon hearing their approaching voices. She offered them an uncertain sort of smile, looking back and forth between them and Zonko a few times.

"Hello there!" she greeted them cheerily. "I'm so sorry, but this patient isn't allowed visitors from the public."

"I've got a letter here from the Minister himself authorizing a private visit," Fred replied smoothly, extracting a small roll of parchment from his back pocket.

The Healer gaped at them for a moment. "Private?" she repeated back at them. She took the letter from him and seemed to read it over multiple times, her watery blue eyes scanning the parchment rapidly. With a sigh, she rolled it up again and handed it back to Fred.

"You know he's not..._all there_, don't you?" she asked, lowering her voice considerably and looking over her shoulder at Zonko with a nervous glance.

"We do," Fred said shortly.

The Healer continued looking back and forth between them a few more times, as though the desperate look on her face would force them to reconsider.

"You know he's awaiting a criminal trial, don't you?" she tried again.

"We do," Fred repeated.

Finally, she seemed to give in. She sighed heavily and skirted her way around them.

"Alright," she said over her shoulder. "But I'm not _leaving_, you hear? I'll just be over here, tending to the tomatoes." She gave them one last sweeping look of suspicion before heading over to the tomato patch, her purple and lime green robes swirling out behind her.

Although the Healer had made considerable efforts to keep their exchange subtle, Ava couldn't possibly understand why. Zonko hadn't stirred from his hunched position upon the stool, nor had he torn his gaze away from the thick green ferns only inches from his face. His focus was glazed over, intently staring at the plants but not really seeing them at all.

Ava and Fred exchanged an apprehensive glance before Fred cleared his throat and spoke first.

"Rudy." Fred wasn't asking for his attention, he was demanding it, though he kept his voice low and gentle. "Rudy, look at me."

Fred's command elicited no response from the old man, but he didn't seem to be ignoring them; rather, it seemed as though he wasn't yet aware of their presence at all.

"I'm going to zap him," Fred whispered, a frown on his face as he rummaged in his jacket for his wand.

"Fred, don't!" Ava replied quickly, grabbing him by the forearm. "We'll be kicked out, note from Kingsley be damned and never allowed back around him, you mustn't!"

"Well, we've got to get his attention somehow." Fred continued frowning at his former idol. "You know, Dad used to say when folks were tortured into insanity like this, the Aurors thought they were just, I dunno, trapped inside their own minds somehow. Like an animal in a cage. Isn't that awful?"

"It is," Ava agreed. "Fred, let me try."

He looked over at her, his eyebrows raised. "No offense love, but if he was going to answer either of us, it'd be me. There's no magical words..." As soon as the phrase left his mouth, a sense of understanding seemed to come over Fred.

"Ah," he said, and nodded. "Alright, give it a go then. But...be subtle. Our watchdog's keeping a close eye."

Ava nodded minutely to him, and gripped the edge of the wooden trough. She slowly lowered herself to her knees upon the damp cement floor, taking care to position her head directly across from Zonko's drooping one. She peered through the vibrant green ferns and concentrated on his eyes.

_Zonko. Can you hear me?_

First, there was nothing. And then, the old man suddenly stirred, jerking awake from his stupor and raising his dull eyes to meet Ava's.

_You. I've seen you before. You're the one he's after._

_Gridgeon?_

_Yes. You're the last one. The last one to collect._

_What does he want with me?_

_Nothing. He only wants to ensure you won't be a problem for him when he enacts his plan. You know too much._

"Ava," Fred whispered excitedly, crouching beside her. "Ava it's working, he's looking at you, what's he saying?"

"Shh." Ava swatted him away, keeping her eyes locked on Zonko's. Luckily he didn't seem distracted by Fred's sudden appearance.

_What plan?_

_It's strange. History repeats itself. But sometimes backwards, I suppose._

_Zonko, what plan?_

But either Zonko had lost interest in the conversation or he simply didn't have the energy—or the sanity—to sustain it. His already dull gaze weakened from hers, and he broke the connection, returning his attention back to the ferns.

"What's happening?" Fred whispered.

"I don't know," Ava whispered back, her voice threaded with frustration. "He said Gridgeon's been after me this whole time because he wants to _collect _me...because I'm too much of a risk to his plan..."

"Plan?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out, but I'm losing him." Ava glanced around the greenhouse desperately, as though the cabbage or the mustard greens would lend their advice.

"Try something that will really get his attention," Fred offered.

"Like?"

"Knox?" Fred replied with a shrug.

Ava smiled at him in gratitude and took in a deep breath before positioning herself across from Zonko once more.

_Knox. Your great-grandson. You surrendered him to us._

It worked—Zonko's eyes slid over to meet Ava's. There was a certain glimmer of light behind them that hadn't been present before. Ava could feel Fred's excitement radiating from beside her.

_You have the boy?_

_He's safe. But he's not doing well. Zonko, we need your help._

He exhaled through his nose heavily as though in sadness, but didn't look surprised.

_His speech lags. My grandson never took the time to try and teach him. He still soils himself, like an infant. And he's fearful of everything. Gridgeon didn't appear to be the most patient father._

_So then why did Gridgeon want to keep him so desperately? Why not leave him in the wilderness somewhere if he grew tired of him?_

_Knox is his crowning jewel. He does magic, you see. Gridgeon was particularly proud that, as a Squib, he'd produced a magical heir._

Ava couldn't help herself; she scrunched up her nose in a disgusted expression as the memory of Sarah bleeding to death upon the floor of the Cube flashed before her mind.

_Why did you bring him to us? Why turn yourself in?_

Zonko slowly blinked, and a shadow of sincere sadness passed over his face.

_Because it needs to end now, this cycle of hatred and bigotry that I started. No more._

_You started? By keeping Gridgeon locked away as a child, you mean?_

_When his parents were dying, his mother—my daughter—asked me to take him in and raise him as my own. I promised. But I broke that promise. I noticed the boy's lack of magic, but he was rich in intellect. So I kept him, used his ideas to save my failing joke shop. Kept him...like my crown jewel._

Ava sighed, finally understanding.

_You didn't want Gridgeon—_

_To do to Knox what I'd done to him._ Zonko blinked, and there were tears resting on the edges of his lids. _Children are not their parents' possessions. They are no one's possessions. I know I can never undo what I've done—I've turned Gridgeon into a monster, and that fault is my own. I've earned what he's done to me. But the very least I could do was ensure it stopped with the next generation._

_And Gridgeon's plan?_

There were a few beats of pause before Zonko finally answered.

_War._

The word felt taut and gravelly, and Ava could tell Zonko was running out of steam once more. Her heart quickened. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to get him back again if he slipped away.

_Zonko, how is he going to do that? How will he start a war?_

_I need you...to promise me..._

_Zonko, please tell me about the plan—_

_PROMISE ME!_

Fred watched as Ava's eyes widened suddenly and a crease formed in her forehead. He bounced up and down on his heels impatiently, watching the silent exchange, until it suddenly ended—Zonko looked away from Ava and back into the plants, and from beside him, Ava sighed. It was obvious to Fred that their interview was over for good.

Ava gripped the trough again and slowly rose to her feet, still staring down at the old man with an odd expression on her face. Fred stood alongside her, but before he could get a chance to ask her what had happened, the Healer reappeared, brushing past them to stand behind Zonko. She set a protective hand on his shoulder and gave it a little squeeze.

"It's time for his afternoon potions and rest," she said politely but firmly. "I hope you've found what you're looking for."

The Healer slid her hand down Zonko's arm and gripped the crook of his elbow, pulling him up from his stool to a standing position. She prodded him to move forward, and he wobbled for a moment, like he'd forgotten how to use his legs.

Fred and Ava watched in silence as the pair passed. Zonko had begun muttering to himself, but his words were garbled. The only pieces Fred could hear clearly sounded an awful lot like, _"stinking peaches" _and _"underpants"_.

"That's right, off we go," the Healer crooned to him reassuringly, patting his back with one hand while using the other to keep hold on his arm for balance.

Fred waited to speak until the pair were far down the greenhouse, closing in on the exit. He watched them hobble along for awhile before turning to Ava.

"Crazy old bat," he muttered. "You can really see where Gridgeon got it from, the penchant for insanity, clearly the apple doesn't fall far from the bloody tree."

"I'm not sure Gridgeon's insane," Ava replied softly, still staring after Zonko and his caretaker. "A monster? Yes. But insane..." She trailed off and paused for a few moments. "I don't know. His grandfather put him through hell. He's a beaten animal who finally decided to bite back." Fox's words came back to her:_ 'I'd rather be a guard dog than a bait dog, know what I mean?'_

Fred was making a face like he'd smelled something rotten. "Don't tell me you feel sorry for him?"

Ava tore her gaze away from the Healer and Zonko's retreating backs, and looked up at Fred. "I do, actually. I pity him. I hate him and everything he's done, everything he's doing, but part of me understands him. It doesn't mean I'll be keeping my promise, though."

"What promise?"

She raised her eyebrows and sighed. "Zonko asked me to promise not to kill Gridgeon."

Fred scowled. "Yeah, well...some promises are made to be broken. Come on, let's go home."

He took Ava's hand and the two of them followed in Zonko and the Healer's footsteps out of the greenhouse. As they exited, they caught a sight of the old man before he shuffled around the corner down the corridor. He'd paused for a moment, his neck twitching to the side, like he wanted to look back at them one last time. But he never got the chance to—whether he lacked the energy to turn or the Healer urged him forward, Fred and Ava didn't know, but he was gone, his retreating shadow flickering with torch light and finally disappearing from view.


	39. Chapter 39--Home

Chapters left after this: **2** **(and an epilogue)**

**Chapter 39—Home**

"_'Happy Baby'_? What exactly is a 'Happy Baby' party, Gin?"

Ginny immediately wanted nothing more than to fling the dripping paintbrush she was holding in the direction of her brother. She knew that voice, that _tone_ he was using. Charlie wasn't genuinely asking her a question. He was out for blood; trying to get a rise out of her, she could already tell. And shit, it was absolutely working.

But rather than making a shish kabob out of her brother's eyeball, she decided to tighten and loosen her grip on the paintbrush a few times, counted to five, and then carefully shuffled her feet to turn in place on the top shelf of the step-stool she was currently perched on.

The look on Charlie's face only confirmed her suspicions of an oncoming taunt-fest he was clearly planning for her. He was determinedly trying—and failing—to hide a wide smirk, his lips pressed together as his cheek muscles tugged back in defiance, giving his face sort of a twisted grimace.

"What are you going on about?" Ginny sighed, dropping the brush into the can at her feet and crossing her arms.

"Well...it's just..." Charlie was already having great difficulty speaking. Ginny could hear him burying laughter between each word.

"It's your sign," he finally managed to choke out.

"Banner," Ginny immediately corrected him.

"Right, right, your banner..."

Ginny glowered at him before turning back around to admire her work. She was standing at the end of a very long roll of parchment strung up between the walls of the Treehouse. It read:

**Happy Birthday/Engagement/Baby!**

She felt her cheeks getting warm. What in Merlin's name was her brother teasing her for? She'd spent all afternoon perfecting the banner, ensuring each letter was identical in size and style as the last, and making pretty, filigree-style flourishes around the border.

"You know, if you'd like to whine," Ginny started, turning back to her older sibling, "you can visit the Complaint Department. It's back at the house, in the rubbish bins behind the pig paddock. You'll find yourself at home there. It's also full of dung." Feeling rather proud of herself, she flicked a bit of lint off the sleeve of her sweater and placed her hands on her hips smugly.

"Hey, hey, hey, no need to get hostile!" Charlie exclaimed, feigning shock and hurt as he backed up a pace with a hand over his heart. "It's just...alright, look." He pointed to the banner. "'Happy Birthday'. Fine, great, totally normal, Ava will love it. 'Happy Engagement'. Very nice as well, looks like the party is a joint birthday-engagement celebration, I can dig it. But...'Happy Baby'? What on Earth is that supposed to mean?"

Ginny huffed. "Well, I couldn't just leave it out!" she exclaimed, waving her arms around in annoyance much to her brother's delight. "If we didn't acknowledge it, it would look like we're having a party for everything _but_ it, like we're ignoring it or not happy about it, and they'd be upset!"

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Are there _normally_ celebratory parties around the fourth month of pregnancy?"

"Mum!" Ginny shrieked, stomping her foot down on the step-stool, which wobbled precariously under her. "Tell him I'm right, tell Charlie to leave me alone!"

Molly wasn't anywhere near the realm of paying attention to her grown children bickering like toddlers. She was hunched over one of the long tables, eyes squinted and tongue pointing out between her teeth in concentration as she piped tiny icing flowers all over an impressive two-tiered cake.

"Listen to your brother, Ginny," she murmured absentmindedly, having not the slightest idea what she was even answering to.

"HA!" Charlie barked triumphantly.

"_Argh!"_ Ginny screeched, and launched herself from the step-stool. Charlie's eyes actually widened in fear as she swooped down upon him, and proceeded to chase him around the room while threatening him with his life, much to the amusement of the rest of the gathered guests.

Meanwhile, a very different exchange was taking place down on the forest floor below.

"You know, we're already late," Ava said, her last word muffled as Fred's mouth covered hers.

He pulled back after a moment, grinning. "Think we'll get in trouble?"

Ava grinned as well, mirroring him. "Oh, absolutely. We're in for it. Lots of scolding." She intertwined her fingers with his and leaned back, resting her head against the tree and looking up at him through her eyelashes. She fought back a giggle. Who was she kidding? He could see right through her, he always did; her faux protests sounding weak and barely half-hearted even to her own ears.

"Right, best to delay it as much as possible then," Fred replied quickly, looking absolutely devilish as he leaned down to kiss her again. The clear and chilly afternoon, the quiet woods, the ground beneath their feet softly padded with pine needles and the gentle cooing of owls weaving through the branches above their heads—he couldn't help it; this place had always made him want to feel close to her. He remembered the very first time he'd brought her here, the way the emerald outline of her hand against the tree shimmered across her face...his lips smiled against hers as he realized he couldn't press himself up against her quite like he used to; her formerly flat middle was beginning to look like she'd swallowed a cantaloupe whole and had created something of a small barrier between them.

"What are you smiling ab—" Ava started, laughter in her voice.

But their seemingly private moment was interrupted by a sudden rustling in the cluster of bushes closest to them. Fred jumped and whipped out his wand; Ava took a step backwards and gripped his arm.

"Whose there?" Fred called out.

The bushes rustled again before a tweed sleeved pair of arms slowly rose in the air from between the thick leaves. Pale fingers spread apart in a clear gesture of surrender as the figure fully revealed himself.

"You going to curse me, son?" Arthur Weasley smiled nervously at the pair as he took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped his shining face with it.

Both Fred and Ava let out identical heavy sighs of relief; Fred even swore under his breath as he pocketed his wand.

"Pardon the, er, interruption...what's wrong with you two?" Arthur's forehead creased in concern as he looked back and forth between Fred and Ava's still dread-stricken, white faces.

Fred was rubbing the back of his neck vigorously. "Sorry Dad, it's been a quiet couple of weeks."

"Come again?"

Fred exchanged a furtive glance with Ava before trying again. "It's been quiet," he repeated.

"Too quiet," Ava added with an uncomfortable shrug.

"We're kind of on edge," Fred admitted. "Sorry."

"Ah," said Arthur, understanding. "Waiting for the other shoe to drop, I see."

"More like the whole shoe closet," Fred replied. "We weren't expecting a whole lot of nothing after Fox..." He trailed off, looking at Ava sheepishly for a moment before returning his attention back to his father. "Anyway, what's up? Why were you crouching there in the bushes like a garden gnome, how long have you been—"

"I need to tell you something, and I don't have much time," Arthur interjected, quickly glancing up at the canopy of branches above their heads where the Treehouse was nestled, enchanted and invisible. "I'm not supposed to be here."

The very little remaining color in Fred's face drained. "What is it? What's going on?" He could feel Ava's grip on his arm tightening.

"There's a party," replied Arthur, oblivious to the stress he was causing the pair.

"A...a party?"

"There's no meeting. It's a surprise party. Well, it's supposed to be a surprise, anyway." Arthur looked around again nervously. "Speaking of...happy birthday, Ava."

Fred actually burst out with relieved laughter, and Ava dropped his arm. He heard her letting out a long puff of breath behind him. "That's what you've come to warn us about, eh? Like it's some kind of classified information you shouldn't be caught with?"

"Truthfully I'm hiding from your mother. Don't tell her I told you that," Arthur said quickly. "She's been planning...trying to make sure everything is perfect...she'd skin me if she knew I'd told you."

"And why did you?" Fred asked, a single eyebrow raised.

Arthur suddenly looked impossibly more awkward. "Well, I...there's just going to be a lot of...thought it was for the best..." He was muttering, struggling to string a coherent answer together.

"It's because of me, isn't it?" Ava finally spoke up. Her arms were folded across her chest tightly. "You didn't want me to be surprised?"

"_Well," _Arthur sputtered a little too forcefully, a blush creeping up his neck. "Too much surprise, too much chaos, bad for the baby, isn't it? At least that's what your mother always said." He avoided Ava's eyes and grinned stupidly at his son. Then, he began backing up rather rapidly. "Do me a favor, will you?"

"What's that?" Fred asked.

"Try to act like you're surprised. For me?" And with that, he pressed his hand against the tree beside him. It glowed a merry shade of green for a moment before smoothly catapulting him into the air, and he disappeared within the branches.

A few seconds of silence followed before an owl hooted from somewhere in the trees above them, and Ava sighed heavily. Fred turned around to face her; she was staring off into the distance and frowning while rubbing big circles around her belly.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked her.

"He just really scared me for a minute," Ava replied, still frowning and rubbing. "Baby's upset. Feels like it's doing somersaults in there." She looked at Fred and smiled weakly. "Maybe it's just gas."

Fred didn't smile back. He stepped closer to her, and brushed her temple with the back of his knuckles. "And what's going on in _there_, huh?" he murmured.

"I hate that your family is afraid of me," she whispered. "He only told us because he's afraid."

"Afraid?" Fred repeated.

"That I'll do something I don't mean to if I'm blindsided," she clarified. "Like, I'll blow something up, or someone—"

"He's not afraid of you," Fred interrupted quickly. "In fact, he's fascinated. Muggle stuff already riles the man up like a tot on Christmas morning; now you're a Squib performing advanced magic..." He trailed off and suddenly smirked. "Actually, he may be a little jealous. And proud, I reckon, that his very own son is the one who helped produce this incredibly powerful heir..."

"_'Produce your heir'_?! Oh, barf!" Ava exclaimed, looking at Fred with disgust. "What am I, your concubine on a mission to ensure your dynasty's future?"

"Dunno, do you want to be?" Fred asked, smirking even further and wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help it; she laughed and allowed Fred to take her hands in his.

"Listen," he said gently. "They're not afraid of you. I love you, and for that they love you too." He squeezed her fingers reassuringly. "But you can't blame the man for wanting to make sure you don't accidentally level the damn place."

"See—!" Ava started.

"Key word there is 'accidentally'," he continued, paying no mind to Ava's interjection. "We know you'd never hurt us. But you've got some serious juice. _Really_." He punched her in the arm lightly. "Try owning it."

Ava watched him for a few seconds before a slow smile spread across her face. "You're awfully proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"What about, you mean, with the sheer power of my lovemaking I've created the most powerful witch on the continent? Not at all!" He didn't give Ava a chance to reply; he locked his arms around her in a gripping embrace before reaching behind her head to press his hand against the tree. They were launched together into the air, Ava holding on to him tightly in return, and all Fred could hear was the sound of her yelling something mixed in with the sound of the air rushing by his ears as they rose in height. The forest canopy blurred by before his eyes in a swirl of greens, greys, and browns, and then it was over; their rapid climbing stopped before falling back down for just a moment and gently being deposited on to the cargo net.

They climbed on to the platform and hesitated before the door. The curtains on the wide bay window beside them were tightly drawn.

"So how good of an actress are you?" Fred asked.

"Not very good," Ava admitted. "I'm more of a wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve type."

"Me too," Fred sighed. "Oh, well!" He grabbed Ava's hand and kicked open the door before them.

There was a joyous explosion of sound; a jumbled chorus of excited voices that Ava guessed were supposed to be saying _'Surprise!'_. But to her delight, Ava didn't have to fake much of anything—the overwhelming sense of happiness and anticipation that was buzzing around the room quickly dissolved away any remaining melancholy, and she found herself grinning and stumbling in awe at the gathering before her.

There were more than two dozen people there; all of the Weasleys and their respective partners, children, and friends were present. Most of them were wearing fabulous party hats, and some of the girls were sporting beautiful glitter swirls painted across their cheek and brow bones with makeup. Dakota especially caught Ava's eye; he was wearing an American flag draped across his shoulders like a cape, with a dazzling white cowboy hat atop his head, complimenting his enchanted eye patch perfectly. Everyone whooped and cheered, countless rows of colorful streamers above their heads fluttering from all of the excited movement. There were some kind of enchanted party décor pieces floating near the ceiling and weaving through the streamers; shimmering foil fish, Ava realized, flashing their elaborate fins and changing colors every time they changed direction. The air was filled with the smell of delicious food, and Ava's stomach rumbled hungrily at the sight of the long tables crammed with countless platters of different dishes. In the middle of the room sat a small table in which a stunning cake was perched upon, twenty-three candles already nestled in buttercream frosting along the top.

Fred was being rushed by all of the men in the room; crushing him and jumping around him in a circle like a sports team getting hyped up for an event.

"We've got the legendary Fred Weasley with us tonight; he's going to be a Dad!" Lee roared as though announcing it to a stadium, his arms raised above his head. "And he's getting hitched!"

The boys took on a tribal-sounding chant of _"He's getting hitched, he's getting hitched!"_ as they continued to jump around, and Ava found herself suddenly caught in a bone crushing hug. Dark red hair swung around and covered her face.

"Ginny!" she squeaked out excitedly, spitting hair from her mouth.

"Ava!" Ginny squealed back, and squeezed tighter. "You knew, didn't you?" she whispered.

"Absolutely," Ava whispered back, and squeezed her future sister-in-law in return.

"Hey, wait a second!" Fred's voice happily broke through the enthusiastic crowd. "What's a Happy Baby party?"

"_Who said that?"_ Ginny shrieked, immediately releasing Ava. She stomped over to Fred, her hands balled into fists and began yelling incoherently. George, Bill, and Charlie stood off to the side, observing and holding on to each other for support as they nearly fell over with laughter.

The party was an exuberant affair and an enormous success, to say the least. Molly beamed as every one of her dishes was devoured, and barely even got upset when George began juggling meatballs and splattered the walls with sauce. Charlie had all of the children gathered around him in a corner as he animatedly told them a story about his latest adventure with dragons, even using mouthfuls of vodka and the flame from a candle to blow fire from his mouth as he imitated the beasts. Ron and Harry chased one another around the room, dueling with chicken drumsticks like they were knights caught in a thrilling sword fight. And at one point, drunk off of excitement and too much Firewhiskey, Dakota stood on top of one of the long dining tables and belted out the American national anthem while flapping the flag around his shoulders like a pair of wings.

It took a couple of hours for Hermione to finally get a chance to corner Ava and excitedly interrogate her about her abilities and magic use.

"I just cant believe it, it's brilliant, isn't it?" Hermione gushed after an exhausting array of questions, bouncing baby Rose on her knee. Her fist was in her mouth and she was drooling. "First you tell us Squibs can do magic by _ingesting _magical blood...not that that's anything to be proud of," she quickly added. "But now that you're sharing a blood supply with the baby's, whose obviously quite magical, you've got a permanent store in you, and you're...well, you're just amazing." She placed a free hand on Ava's knee. "When all of this is over, we'll have to reveal this information to the Ministry. It _has_ to be studied, oh just think of the possibilities—"

"Really not trying to get locked up and studied by another government agency, Hermione," Ava said dryly.

"Oh—well yes, of course not, what a silly thing for me to say—"

"I know what you meant," Ava reassured her, smiling a little. "It's all sort of magical...well, _extra_ magical, isn't it? Fred sure is proud."

"Oh, I bet he is!" Ginny exclaimed, suddenly appearing to step between their knees and reaching over them to grab a handful of seasoned popcorn from the table. "Like he's singlehandedly responsible for creating the next Messiah, huh?" She snorted. "You better watch out after the baby's born, Ava, or else you'll find yourself with seven spawns just like Mum."

"He's going—he's going to keep you pregnant at all times just so he can admire his handiwork!" Hermione exclaimed, barely able to get the words out, clutching Rose tightly as she rocked back and forth with hysterical laughter.

"Cake!" Molly's voice called out through the crowded room. "It's cake time; Ava, where are you?"

Ava grinned back at Ginny and Hermione before swinging her legs over the bench and making her way over to the center of the room. Fred was waiting for her in front of the cake table, bits of rainbow confetti sprinkled through his flaming red hair and wearing a wide smile. He threaded his fingers through hers as Molly lit all twenty-three candles with a sweeping motion of her wand.

"Make a wish!" various voices cried out.

Ava gazed into the flickering candlelight, smiling absentmindedly at all of the joy surrounding her, and seeing Molly's beaming face watch her expectantly from the other side of the flames. What could she possibly wish for, when she had all of this right before her? Friends and family to call her own, love, laughter, and magic, magic that wasn't so scary anymore, that was pure and good and made from love...and her life, she thought, finally feeling like she had a strong grasp upon it, no longer feeling like it was made of smoke and slipping through her fingers. What more could she want?

Fred rubbed his thumb across the top of her hands, and at that moment, their baby made a fluttering motion from somewhere beneath her belly button. She smiled, and not letting go of Fred's hand, leaned forward and extinguished all of her candles in a powerful, single breath.

Ava turned to the side and leaned against Fred's chest. He wrapped his arms around her and began rubbing up and down her shoulder blades while the crowd of attendants surrounded Molly as she began doling out slices of cake.

"What did you wish for?" he murmured.

Ava tilted her head back, meeting his eyes. "That our child will have an immeasurable amount of happy days, just like this one."

"We'll make sure of it," he whispered back.

* * *

Not long after, they were strolling through the forest just as the sun was beginning to set. Molly had pointedly suggested to Fred that perhaps he should take Ava out for a walk before it got dark; they had bade everyone a gracious farewell and were sent on their way with second servings of cake wrapped in napkins.

"So," Ava started thickly, her mouth full of cake, "what's your Mom got planed for us out here?"

Fred laughed. "You caught on to that, did you?"

Ava gulped down her last bite and wiped her mouth before smiling up at him. "She's not exactly subtle."

"She isn't," he agreed. "But she didn't want me to miss out on the opportunity to give you your birthday present."

"And what kind of present are you hiding out here in the forest, pray tell?"

"You'll see," he sing-songed, and grinned down at her as he pulled a strand of sparkling silver streamer from her hair.

"Is it a bear? I hope it's a bear."

Fred stopped his absentminded twirling and un-twirling of the streamer around his finger. "You'd like a bear? Hate to break it to you love, but the only bears in Britain live in zoos."

Ava sighed heavily. "That's a shame," she said in a sincere-sounding forlorn voice. "See, I had one as a child, for a pet, you know? Nearly everyone I knew did. It's a fairly common American tradition. His name was Arnold. Sweet thing. Walked on a leash and everything, but wouldn't use a knife and fork at meals."

"What an absolute savage!"

"Terrible table manners," she agreed.

"You're an awful liar," he teased, smiling to himself at the vision of a kid-sized Ava walking a Grizzly down the sidewalk.

Ava suddenly stopped in her tracks. The dusty rose tones of the sunset peeking out from between the trees were rippling up ahead, like the sky was reflecting on—

"Crater Lake," she said, looking up at Fred questioningly. "You've taken me to Crater Lake?"

"I have," he said, and began fishing around in the back pocket of his jeans. "Which means it's time for the blindfold."

"Blind—?" Her words were cut short as Fred swooped around to stand behind her and placed a dark scarf over her eyes, tying it in a snug knot at the back of her head.

"This is very romantic," she said sarcastically.

"Just go with it," Fred urged, staying behind her and gripping her forearms. He began to frog-march her forward.

"It's not like there's a choice, I'm guessing."

"Now you're catching on!" He swatted her butt, and she yelped and giggled.

It wasn't long before he re-directed her to veer right. They'd stopped dodging around as many trees, and the ground beneath Ava's feet was getting springier. She could hear a bullfrog croaking from somewhere close by.

"You're awfully nervous," Ava said over he shoulder as she continued to blindly make her way around the edge of the lake. "Your heart's practically in your throat; I don't think you've ever been this excited, actually—"

"Hey!" Fred exclaimed. "No cheating! Turn left again."

"Fred Weasley, if you dump me in this lake I swear—"

"Tempting, but that's not the plan. At least not tonight," he joked. "Up we go," he prompted, and nudged her calf with the tip of his shoe.

Ava slowly bent her leg at the knee, raising and lowering her foot clumsily. She was certain she looked like a fool, like a newly blind woman attempting to climb an unfamiliar staircase, until—

The ground changed. Her shoes were no longer sinking into the soft, muddy bank surrounding the lake; instead she found herself suddenly standing on what felt like an even, solid floor. The sound of a wooden plank clunked beneath the heel of her boot as she placed her other foot down cautiously. She heard Fred climbing up behind her.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice eager. He didn't wait for an answer, however; he gave a gentle tug to the scarf around Ava's head, and the blindfold fluttered down from her eyes.

It took Ava a few moments to realize what they were standing on—or standing _in_, rather. There was, indeed, a wooden floor beneath their feet, made of beautifully weathered, grey-toned planks, not quite nailed all the way down yet. And surrounding them was a wooden skeleton; the bare-bones beginnings of a house. Criss-crossed framing of where walls would surely be separated room from room, with gaping rectangular spaces waiting for doors to be placed. A halfway-completed staircase rose up past the framing and over their heads, and suddenly stopped, a lone stair hovering over nothingness.

"Ah," Fred said quickly, glancing up at the unfinished staircase that Ava was looking at. "Yeah, we haven't had a chance to start the second floor yet. It'll be along, though. Come on, I want you to see the fireplace!"

Ava speechlessly followed as Fred guided her across the space, stepping through a would-be doorframe and into what was surely destined to be a sitting room. It was large and rectangular, with a space for a grand Bay window open at the forefront, facing the lake. Standing in the center of the opposite wall was the aforementioned fireplace, made of grey and copper cobblestone, with a lonely chimney erected that rose up past the framing.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Fred murmured, staring particularly fondly at the hearth. "Me and George picked out every single one of those stones ourselves, you know, went to the quarry to meet up with some mining goblins and-" He suddenly paused as he tore his eyes from the stonework and returned them back to Ava's face. "You alright there?" He asked with a chuckle. "You're looking kind of winded, even though I'm sure you've only been standing here—"

"Fred, what is all of this?" Ava rasped out, finally managing to find her voice. Her throat was getting increasingly tighter, for some reason, like she was preparing to cry. She was looking everywhere and at everything but Fred; the unstained floorboards, the beginnings of what looked like kitchen counters in the next room, the sunset reflecting off the calm water of the lake.

"Don't be thick. You know what it is." Fred's finger gently caught under her chin and turned her face to look up at him. He ran his thumb across her jaw. "It's _home_."

"_Home?" _Ava squeaked out. Now her eyes were aching, and a tremor ran across her bottom lip.

Fred's hand didn't move from cupping her face. "It'll be ready before the baby arrives," he said gently. "My brothers and me, we've all been building it. And Lee, and Harry, and Dakota. Mix of magic and Muggle craftsmanship, that's what worked for the Treehouse." His small smile was twitching all around his face, like he was fighting hard to stop it from turning into a proud grin. "You look like you want to say something. Or soil your pants, or maybe just explode; your face is kind of looking like a corn kernel about to pop—"

"Stop it!" Ava cried out, swatting his hand away and taking a step back, but she began laughing with him. Her face finally released the tension it had been clinging on to and she found herself crying into her own open mouth as she laughed.

"Now _this_," Fred said roundly, letting the prideful smirk spread across his face, "this is a great reaction. Oh, I knew you would love it, but you're laughing _and_ smiling _and_ crying at the same time? This is gold."

"_Fred!"_ Ava squealed gleefully, and rushed forward; he caught her and spun her once before setting her down softly. She hurriedly wiped the tears from her cheeks. "This is ours?!"

"'Course it is, I wouldn't be showing it to you if it were Percy's. Look, I want to show you something else." He took her hand again and led her towards the shells of the kitchen counters. "There." He pointed to a rectangular gap in the wall. "There'll be a window there, right above the sink and stove, so you can look out into the garden while you're in here."

"Garden? In the woods?" Ava leaned forward and squinted into the increasing darkness of the woods around them.

"Well, that's the surprise. I didn't bring you over here just for the bleeding window. Come on." He walked to the edge of the foundation and turned sideways, sliding his body through the framework and making the short hop down to the ground below. He turned and waited for Ava, extending his arms and catching her on the way down.

"_Lumos!"_ he cried, pulling his wand from his waistband.

The tip of his wand ignited, and the shadowy woods around them were flooded with light. Ava could see what he had been referring to now; there was a brown picket fence setting up a moderate square perimeter, and most of the trees inside the space were gone. The ground was even, smooth, and rich brown in color, like it had been tilled and fertilized recently.

"See? It'll be perfect for a veggie patch. You can grow tomatoes and make sauce, just like your Mum did."

"It's perfect," Ava agreed. "But Fred, the trees—?"

He laughed. "You know, I know you pretty well. I knew you wouldn't have liked it if we chopped them down, so we just...you know, shifted them a bit. With magic. There, look." He pointed with his ignited wand and she turned; sure enough, there was an odd cluster of perfectly healthy looking trees off to the side of the house that looked strangely out of place.

Fred chuckled from behind her, and the wandlight went out. "It was the best we could do."

She smiled approvingly while still gazing at them. "I think they're very happy there, actually, happy trees indeed, might even be as happy as I am—" Both her words and her feet froze in place as she turned back around and caught sight of Fred.

He was standing very still, and his hands were gathered to hold something in front of him—a tiny box.

"Care to wager that?" he asked, and Ava had only just separated her lips to speak—not even sure what she was going to say; maybe to protest, or maybe to just make another nonsensical gurgling sound—before he popped the lid open.

She could have fallen over and fainted right then and there; in the minute second between spotting Fred before he opened the box she'd already guessed he had a ring in there, but she wasn't prepared for what she saw.

It was unlike any ring, or even piece of jewelry at all, that she'd seen before. The band was made of a rosy-hued gold and was set with dozens of tiny diamonds that managed to impressively sparkle even with the little bit of remaining daylight left. It braided around the shank, twisting together to encircle around a perfectly oval stone in the center; and it wasn't another sparkling white gem, it was—

"Violet," Fred said softly, unknowingly completing Ava's thoughts. "It's the sunrise, Ava." He stepped closer to her and didn't wait for her to say anything; he slipped the ring on to her left hand, pushing it to the back of her finger firmly. "The purple, in the sky...and the gold, the sun's first rays in the morning..." He trailed off and squeezed her fingers, flexing them so the light hit all of the jewels again and shimmered. "You told me that your favorite color was violet because it made you feel like the danger was over, and you were finally free to rest. You told me that violet made you feel safe. Ava," he touched her face with his free hand; she was crying again. "That's how I want you to feel every time you look down at this ring. Like you've got me, and I've got you, and you're finally, _finally_ safe."

Ava coughed out another blubbering sob. "But...but I told you you didn't have to...you didn't have to get me a d-diamond..." She had no idea what she was doing, yet she knew how foolish she sounded; the excitement and happiness and surprise of it all were collectively clouding her brain and here she was, arguing with Fred about gemstones.

Fred chuckled. "Well, for starters, it's not a diamond, it's an amethyst. And yes, I know that's what we agreed on, but you know what?" He brushed another rolling tear away from her face. "When you told me how much you didn't _need_ a ring from me, that was the moment I realized just how much you _deserved_ one."

"That's very philosophical of you," Ava said in an impressed voice, her eyebrows raised. She even managed to choke out a laugh.

Fred rolled his eyes and snorted. "Oh for the love of Merlin; I'm trying to be romantic here, would you let me have my moment?"

"Alright," Ava said, grinning, stepping close to him, and resting her hands on his shoulders. "The moment's all yours; I surrender my silliness. You can be as serious as you'd like now."

He sighed heavily. "No, that's okay, I think my solemnity has officially reached its yearly limit. Come here before I start flinging mud at you." He grinned back before leaning down and pulling her against him, giving the top of her head a brief kiss before they settled into a comfortable embrace.

"Sorry for not getting you a bear," Fred murmured into her hair.

"I forgive you," she whispered back. "The ring's nice. And the house."

"Maybe next birthday?"

"Mm."

The side of her head was pressed against his chest, and she listened to the beat of his heart with one ear and the sounds of the lake with the other. The seconds spent there turned to minutes, and even though she remained standing, it was all starting to make her kind of drowsy.

"You know," she started, releasing herself from his embrace with a long yawn and stepping back. "I know why you picked here to build. This place." She gestured to the lake and surrounding forest. "I told you this reminded me of home. And that my parents would have loved it here. I don't know, I can't explain it, but when we were sitting on the dock that first day we came here, this place felt old...good, but old. Familiar. Like it had always been mine."

"And now it is," Fred replied. "Yours."

"Ours," Ava quickly corrected. She reached over and took his right hand with her left, and he proudly ran his thumb over the ring resting on her finger.

The time for tears, for choking, for blubbering and stuttering was over-there was a soft but bright smile inhabiting Ava's face; but she felt like it wasn't just her lips, everything was smiling—her eyes and their lids, her temples, her pupils, the pulp in her teeth, every hair in her brows. It was like a smile and the happiness that had prompted it had taken up permanent residence in every single one of her features and had no plans to leave, like the smile had built a house of its own.

Still holding on to Fred's hand with her left, she squatted down and pressed her right into the ground. It was cool to the touch, and easily allowed her fingers and palm to leave their imprint. She closed her eyes and breathed in the smell deeply: the lake water, the fertile gardening soil, the trees. It all smelled so familiar, so comforting, like an old worn-in blanket you trust to keep you warm on a frigid night, yet the adrenaline from the newness of it all continued to course through her veins. It was absolutely euphoric.

Ava opened her eyes and turned her hand over, smiling at the dirt that had settled into the lines of her hand. Then, she looked up at him: the man who'd had a wall of static and ice around his heart when they'd first met and now was slipping sunrises on to her finger. He was grinning amusedly down at her like he'd never seen anything so odd; this girl crouching down there in the dirt, yet so beautiful at the same time.

Fred was right. They really were home.

* * *

Ava heard the door to the flat swing open. She paused her stirring, frozen in place, keeping the spoon immersed in the saucepan. She was waiting for something.

"One," she murmured to herself.

_Clunk._

"And two," she followed, smiling down at the stove.

_Plonk. Thud._

"Hey crazy lady, I'm home!" Fred's voice called from the foyer. "Ava?"

"Oh, no, sorry, it's not Ava tonight," Ava called back over her shoulder, smirking as she switched off the flame. "It's a different crazy lady. Your other fiance."

Fred's sock-covered feet padded their way into the kitchen, and he appeared, still dressed in his cobalt blue and canary yellow shop uniform, his hair tousled and his freckles bright. He tossed a large parchment envelope on to the dining table.

"My _other_ fiance?" he questioned. He looked confused. "I thought you weren't supposed to be here until Thursday?"

"No, no, no," Ava responded, sighing heavily. "You're getting confused. That's the night _my_ other fiance comes over. Have we double booked?"

"We have," Fred affirmed. "Well, since the four of us will be here, the only logical thing to do would be double date."

"Logical, yes," Ava agreed thoughtfully. "And polite. I mean, we're not savages."

"Certainly."

"It's settled, then."

The two of them entered something of a staring contest; their eyes locked and quite serious. Both were determined not to be the one to crack first.

It didn't last long and there was no winner or loser; they simultaneously dissolved into hysterics, no longer able to keep up the charade. Ava wiped away tears of mirth as she poured the saucepan's contents into the glass baking dish, layering the ribbon-like noodles with a creamy mushroom sauce, and Fred came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"What's for dinner?" he muttered, planting a kiss on her ear.

"Vegetable lasagna," she answered, and spun around. She placed her hands on the sides of Fred's face tenderly. "Fred? I need to ask you something very serious."

"Oh God." His grip on her middle tightened slightly.

Ava took a long, deep breath, feigning earnestness best she could. "Are you...are you going to kick your _fucking _shoes off of your feet and let them bounce all over in the new house, just like you do here?"

Fred instantly dropped his hands, stepping away from her and rolling his eyes so hard Ava could practically hear them squealing against his brain. She giggled madly.

"Yes," he said over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway, heading for the bedroom. The vague sounds of the swishing of clothes as he undressed followed his voice.

"But you're going to mark up the walls!" Ava whined. There was an obvious note of teasing in her voice; truthfully she didn't care (much) yet she couldn't help but push his buttons. _It's only fair_, she assured herself, _teasing him like this._ He'd do the same to her. She pushed the baking dish into the oven and straightened back up, smiling and waiting for his response.

"I built those walls!" Fred called back.

"I made this lasagna," she argued. "Shall I burn the cheese?"

Fred's head suddenly appeared around the corner, a half-donned sweatshirt slung around his neck. His eyes were narrowed.

"You wouldn't dare."

"You're right. I wouldn't." She grinned. "Ten minutes."

Ava could hear the sounds of the sink running and the soap bar clattering around in its dish as Fred washed his face in the bathroom. She meandered over to the dining table and sunk into one of the chairs.

"What's in the envelope?" she called, her fingertips dancing across the top of the parchment curiously.

"It's for you," he called back. "Go on and open it."

Ava ran her hand along the seam, flipping open the inner tab, and pulled out numerous sheets of drawing paper, arranged in a thick stack. She immediately recognized what the illustration on the top piece depicted: it was the unfinished house at the edge of Crater Lake, but it had been drawn quite finished indeed—there was a roomy porch encircling the front, the door had been colored in a cheery shade of yellow, clouds of smoke puffed out from the chimney, and dark blue shutters adorned every shining window. Someone had even drawn the surroundings; every tree trunk was textured, the canopy of leaves stretching over the house and the lake was a beautiful springtime green and housed bird's nests, and roughly sketched lily pads floated atop the water.

Ava lightly passed her fingers over the bright yellow front door, tracing the pencil's indentations. "Beautiful," she murmured, and flipped to the next page.

Fred emerged from the bathroom and came to stand behind her, and rested a hand on her shoulder. "These were the original designs for the house," he explained. "I had Verity do them, you know how she is with art and all. What do you think?"

"They're beautiful," Ava repeated. She shuffled to a picture of the kitchen, where the tiles in the backsplash were a warm, clay-toned orange and a windowbox growing herbs was perched on the sill above the sink. Next was the living space, the grey and copper cobblestone fireplace accented with a light blue hearth rug and adorned with tiny family photos and mementos spread across the mantle. "Gorgeous."

"Aren't they?" Fred agreed. "'Course they're just rough sketches, if you don't care for a certain color or whatnot it's no trouble at all, they're just ideas—what's wrong?"

It took Ava a moment to react; she was staring absentmindedly at a picture, passing her thumb back and forth over the parchment. "Hm?" She jumped. "Nothing."

"Hey." Fred's hand left her shoulder, and he walked around the side of the table, pulling a chair out for himself and settling down into it. "Don't give me that. What're you suddenly noodling about?"

Ava took a deep breath, staring down at the pictures for another moment before looking up to meet Fred's eyes. "It's just...this, all of this, the house, the ring, these beautiful sketches...they're for us to be a family. But honestly? I can't help but feel like we'll never be a _proper _family and we'll never feel _completely_ safe until it's really all over. Gridgeon...his last dregs of Merryweather...it's still not over."

Fred didn't object. He gnawed on his bottom lip for a minute before responding.

"You know, I'd be lying if I said that thought hadn't occurred to me as well." His face drooped with a twinge of sadness as he reached across the table to take Ava's hand. "What do you want to do?"

"We need to find out where they are," Ava responded. "Where the cowards are holed up hiding. What Zonko said, about Gridgeon wanting to start a war...it's still sitting with me." She rested her free hand atop her puckering belly. "I don't want to bring this baby into a warzone. Where it'll feel hunted."

"I have a feeling I know where you want to start," Fred said. He was looking down at the sketches, at the most recent one Ava had been gazing at before she'd started talking. It was a nursery.

"Sarah," Ava said quietly. "Well, not Sarah, exactly. Knox. He was with them before Zonko took him away, so he knows where they're hiding, he knows what they've been planning."

"But he's just a baby," Fred responded gently.

Ava nodded, the image of Knox's milk-chocolate colored eyes coming into her head. "I know. But maybe there's a way we can communicate with him. Maybe I can try, like with Zonko?"

Fred offered a small smile. "If this is what we need to do to end this and to make you feel safe, then that's what we'll do. Come here, you and the little lump on your feet." He rose to his feet and strode over to Ava's side of the table where he pulled her to stand and then pulled her up against him, hugging her tightly.

Ava buried her face against his arm, breathing his scent in, grateful for the gestures of comfort. She closed her eyes in serenity for a few moments before opening them again, peeking around the edge of his shoulder.

"Hey," she said suddenly, and took a slight step back away from Fred's chest so she could reach over him. She retrieved the sketch of the nursery from the table and brought it closer to her face. "The baby's room...you had Verity make it pink?" She looked up at him with raised eyebrows.

Fred blushed a bit. "I've been having some dreams," he admitted. "Dunno if they mean anything, of course, but...well, I think it's a girl."

Ava grinned up at him and squeezed his arm. "That's funny. I think it's a boy."

Fred sighed heavily. "You're probably the right one. I don't care, either way, to be honest. And look, I know people usually follow that kind of statement up with, _'as long as they're healthy, as long as they've got ten fingers and ten toes'_, but you know what? I think a sixteen-fingered child would be exceptional. Absolutely marvelous. A prodigy."

"Fred."

"What?"

"I think the cheese is burning."

Fred's dazed expression suddenly became rapt with attention. His eyes became round as coins, and he dashed away from Ava, into the kitchen, and frantically donned oven mitts.

"Oh, mercy, let the Gods have mercy!" he cried, throwing open the oven door. "I'm sorry, do you hear me? I'm sorry for wishing for a many-fingered mutant child, just please don't let the cheese be burnt!"

* * *

The boy didn't like to be held, or even touched, really. He was squealing and squirming and screaming in his foster mother's arms from they moment they stepped through the Floo.

"Shh, shh, it's alright, we're going down, shh." Alice Fabreaux was attempting to whisper to him reassuringly, but there was an edge to her voice—a subtle one, that came and went so quickly you couldn't be sure whether you imagined it or not. Like when you swear you see something move out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look, it's gone.

She and her husband Theo made their way into the Burrow's sitting room quickly, separating from their cramped space in the hearth instantly as though they knew better than to stay in such a small space for too long. Theo strode forward to greet Arthur's hand with a warm smile, and Alice hastily made her way over to the area rug in front of the squashy armchairs. Before she even got the chance to place Knox down on the floor, he'd started wailing.

"Arthur, Arthur, good to see you, old friend," Theo said, pumping Arthur's hand enthusiastically. "Molly, dear, thank you for having us." He tipped his tweed pageboy cap.

Molly waved her hand, like to say it was nothing. "Well, thank you for coming by. Here, Alice, let me help with the boy..." She drifted into the sitting area, heading towards the struggling pair.

"Theo, this is my son, Fred, and his fiance, Ava." With an arm wrapped around his shoulders, Arthur guided Theo to the edge of the kitchen, where Fred and Ava sat at the table.

Fred was first to spring up from his chair. "Hey, I know you," Fred marveled, shaking Theo's hand. "I mean, I've seen you before, with Ron and Harry at the office, and doing order stuff a few years back with Dad. You're an Auror."

"Ah." Theo grinned and winked. "_Was_ an Auror, actually. Retired last year. And you must be Ava." He cleared his throat just slightly.

Ava jumped. She'd been distracted; still rooted in place in her chair, staring off into the sitting room.

"What? Yeah. I mean..." She rose to her feet, blushing and smoothing out her clothes. "I'm sorry. I'm Ava."

"Pleasure to meet you," Theo said, grasping her hand as well. "My wife and I have many questions for you!"

She laughed nervously. "I'm not sure how many I'll have answers for, truthfully."

"Mm," Theo merely hummed back in response. It was his turn to be distracted; he was no longer looking at Arthur, Fred, or Ava; he was staring into the sitting room. "Alice? Sweetheart? What can I do?" He whipped his cap off his head and turned it around and around in his hands uncertainly.

It barely took a second for the others' attention to be diverted to the same place. Knox was absolutely beside himself; getting increasingly irritated and inconsolable by the second. Although he was nearly three, his behavior was much like that of a toddler: he sat with his legs sprawled and a swaying, and an uncertain posture, like he wasn't quite used to his own body yet. His arms flailed and waved clumsily, and he cringed every time Alice or Molly tried to reach toward him with a consoling hand, his entire face crumpled and dripping with tears.

"I'm—I'm sorry," Alice said, sounding a little breathless, looking embarrassed and apologetic. "He's sometimes like this, but, not always...it's a bad day."

Arthur chuckled roundly, clearly unphased. "Alice, dear, I think you're forgetting—Molly and I raised seven children in this house, each doing exactly this no less than a thousand times. Why, we used to say, if our home had a signature sound, it would be wailing children." He jabbed his thumb in Fred's direction. "This one and his twin gave us the worst of it."

"Hey!" Fred exclaimed, him and his father exchanging looks of teasing and feigned offense.

"What's wrong with him?" Ava called, not paying attention to the mens' exchange and timidly stepping forward towards the sitting area. "I mean..." She reddened again. "Why is he crying like that?"

"Some children are a bit more...er...moody, than others," Theo said, coming from behind to stand beside her. "But Knox...well, like I said. We've got questions."

"I have something he may like," Molly suddenly offered, jumping up and heading towards the staircase. "I'll only be a minute."

Ava watched her go, and then she watched Alice and Knox again. Alice had brought a little sack full of colorful building blocks with her, and she was gently trying to catch his attention with them. She was raising each piece, saying each of their colors and shapes in a soft voice before placing them on the floor in front of him.

"She's really trying so hard to get him to learn," Theo said quietly, sighing. "We think he's running a bit behind."

"Come on, let's sit, tea is ready," Arthur announced, ushering Theo, Fred, and Ava back over to the table. They settled into chairs and Arthur passed around chipped mugs and a teapot, and set out a platter of biscuits.

"Should he be?" Ava asked. Although she was sitting, her eyes remained glued on the scene in the sitting room. "Talking, I mean."

"Well, we're not expecting him to open Scamander's _Fantastic Beasts_ and begin reciting the introduction, but there are milestones he seems to be missing." Theo poured himself tea and took his time picking a few cookies from the plate. "He should be able to say his name...learn our names...name some colors, a few numbers...understand time and the concept of a schedule...you know, morning is time to wake up, the sun goes down and it's time for bed..."

"And he doesn't?" Fred's voice was muffled as his mouth bursted with Linzer tart, powdered sugar and crumbs raining down on the tabletop. He gulped hurriedly. "He doesn't do any of that?"

Theo glanced over at his wife and Knox, and then back to Fred. "May I be frank?"

He seemed to be addressing the entire table, rather than just Fred. At everyones' quiet nods, he folded his hands together and leaned towards them.

"As foster parents...Alice and I have had some really _difficult_ children come through our door. But, as it turns out, they all have one thing in common: all they need is a lot of love, a lot of trust, and a lot of respect, and they all eventually come around. Knox, however, has been especially challenging." He sighed, but he didn't sound exasperated. He sounded sad. "I really don't think he knows his name, to be honest. He doesn't respond to 'Knox' anymore than he responds to 'Hippogriff' or 'Tea Kettle' or even a greeting, like 'Hello'. Time is completely upside-down for him, we don't think he's known anything of a schedule before coming to be with us. He treats us with deep suspicion; he won't eat nor drink in front of us, only in private..." He trailed off, staring down at the table before raising his head and finally looking Ava directly in the eye. "We need to know more, if we're going to help him. Arthur said you're the one, that you've been there since the beginning—"

"Oh...Theo, I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding..." Ava started, but Molly's sudden presence interrupted; she excitedly came down the stairs and burst into the sitting room area, brandishing what looked like a stuffed bear wearing miniature pajamas.

"This is Rose's favorite, I think he'll really like it!" Molly declared, and set the bear down on the floor before Knox.

Alice's eyes set on the bear and began to widen; her face suddenly became panic-stricken.

"Oh, no, Molly he doesn't like—!"

But it was too late.

Knox had immediately spotted the teddy, and his already upset face collapsed further. He let out something of a furious shriek, and extended his thin arms, making angry little fists in the air. The teddy then levitated into the air, and a distinct fabric ripping sound made everyone cringe as he magically tore its eyes out. They plonked down to the floor and rolled away like a pair of shining marbles.

The bear stopped floating, and when it hit the ground, the room was thick with an uncomfortable, shocked silence. Molly's hands were over her mouth, Arthur and Theo were leaning back in their chairs away from the scene, and Fred and Ava had looks on their faces like they'd just witnessed a horrible, gory accident.

However, the panic that Alice had just been wearing moments ago was gone, and instead, her face was eerily blank.

"Theo," she said calmly, "I need some air. I think I'm going to take a walk. Would you mind?"

"No, of course, go ahead," Theo responded, quickly leaving his chair and crouching on the rug beside his wife. He reached out to touch her hand but she rose to her feet and drifted towards the front door before he could make any kind of contact. They remained in silence again as she left, and heard her let out the first sob just before the door closed behind her.

"I feel awful," Molly whispered, her fingers still wrapped around her lips. Her eyes were shining.

"You couldn't have known," Theo reassured her from the ground, smiling sadly. He reached out slowly, touching a cautious hand to Knox's shoulder, to which the child immediately made a noise of displeasure and twisted away from. "Alice has been taking all of this especially hard. We've never failed a child before, and she keeps worrying we're going to make him worse. Damage him further. It's faces. He doesn't like things with faces much. Eyes, more specifically."

"Eyes?" Ava suddenly spoke up.

"That's right. We try not to make eye contact. We've even taken down all the photographs in the house."

Fred and Ava exchanged identical worried, disappointed looks.

"Ava," Theo started, but she raised a gentle hand to stop him.

"I don't know if I can really help you," Ava admitted. "I haven't exactly been there since the beginning, like you said. I was there when he was born, but I really haven't seen him since. I'm so sorry."

"Oh," Theo sighed, scratching his beard and not doing much to hide his disappointment as he watched Knox turning a rectangular block over and over in his little hands. "Oh. Arthur, can't you give us a bit more background, to work with—?"

"You know I can't, friend," Arthur said apologetically. "It's just the information, it's still classified, the Minister asked that we keep it quiet, until it's..."

"Until it's over." Ava had said it softly, and in a hollow voice. As Theo began comfortingly murmuring to Knox, attempting to play with the blocks with him, she turned to Fred and sighed.

"How am I going to be able to communicate with him if he won't let me look into his eyes?" she whispered hopelessly.

Fred stared past her, over at Knox and Theo on the floor for a bit while he gnawed on his lip.

"I have an idea," he finally said, and twisted in place to retrieve his messenger bag slung across the back of his chair.

Ava leaned forward, trying to see what he was doing. "I was wondering why you brought that with you here," she marveled. "I thought maybe you'd brought some work home with you."

"It's something like that," Fred replied with a wink. He rose to his feet, something closed in his fist.

Ava realized what it was right before he lobbed it into the sitting room—a MoSkeeter.

The tiny, dart-like object landed right in the middle of the bear's back, its point nestled into the pale blue pajama top. Knox cringed at the sudden action; the block he'd been holding fell from his hand and his lips parted in surprise. But before anyone could say anything, the MoSkeeter worked its magic, and the bear, blue pajamas and brown fleece fur and all, suddenly flooded with color. First, it was a neon green snakeskin print, then, electric pink and purple paisley. The patterns switched back and forth, merging and swirling with each other, their vibrancy glowing so brightly they reflected on to Knox's pale face like a kaleidoscope.

Since his arrival at the Burrow, Knox had cried, shrieked, and whimpered, but as he watched the bear's magic, he did something completely new: he squealed with delight.

Everyone in the room seemed to let out a collective breath they'd been holding.

"Oh, Fred," Arthur said in a hushed voice. "Son. Thank Merlin he likes it. I could have killed you."

"Love you too, Dad," Fred replied sarcastically, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. His face was slightly smug as he grinned crookedly.

"_Fred."_ Now Ava was saying his name; she was still in her chair, gazing up at him adoringly. She reached over and squeezed his elbow. "How did you know?"

"I didn't." Fred shrugged. "But I dunno, what kid hates color?"

"Me."

Fred, Ava, Arthur, Theo, and Molly froze. None of them had spoken.

"Me," the voice repeated. It was small and on the precipice of shaking, like a teetering object that hadn't quite found its balance yet.

Their eyes shifted to Knox in disbelief. He was perky; his spine straight and eager as he craned his neck as high as he could to get a good look at Fred. His blocks were abandoned and forgotten upon the rug. His hands were resting on his chest, and handfuls of his shirt fabric were grasped between his fingers.

"Me, me!" he said again, and yanked at his shirt, the collar straining around his neck.

"Fred, I think he wants you to do his clothes now," Ava whispered in awe.

The self-satisfied grin had disappeared from Fred's face. His eyes were wide.

"Well, I can't exactly go _throwing _one at him, I don't need _my_ bloody eyeballs getting ripped out and rolling around on the floor—"

"Go to him," Ava urged, pushing his messenger bag into his arms and nudging the small of his back until he took a step forward. "Hurry, before he changes his mind!"

Fred teetered in place, tripping over his own feet like he'd momentarily forgotten how to walk. He took a couple more minuscule, tentative steps towards the rug, pausing on his tiptoes to look over his shoulder and give his parents and Ava an unsure, pleading look.

"It's okay!" Ava whispered, and Arthur and Molly nodded vigorously.

Fred finally reached the sitting area, rocking back and forth on his heels before the rug like it was water he was debating whether or not to jump into. Knox remained sitting at his feet, looking up at Fred's height open-mouthed. His cheek flashed different colors as the light from the bear at his side danced happily across his skin.

Fred crouched down agonizingly slowly while pulling out another MoSkeeter from his bag. Knox's brown eyes followed his hands intently.

He settled down across from the boy, his legs crossed Indian-style, and held the dart out in front of him, like he was letting a suspicious dog sniff a treat before offering.

"Me," Knox squeaked again, yanking on his shirt. His voice was rusted and stiff from lack of use.

Everyone in the room was on pins and needles as they watched Fred lean forward slowly, and they held their breaths as he touched the edge of Knox's sleeve with shaking fingers. To their amazement, the boy didn't pull away, nor did he flinch.

Fred worked quickly, pushing the MoSkeeter through the fabric and looping it through the other side like it was a brooch. After he was certain it was secure, he retracted his hands and quickly leaned away, watching the boy warily.

Knox didn't seem overly concerned with Fred's close proximity. He was distracted; absolutely enamored with the dancing colors and patterns flashing across his shirt. He squealed in delight again, and patted down at his side to grip the teddy. And with his free hand, he reached forward and grasped Fred's index finger.

"Ava," Fred gasped. He didn't move nor did he turn; he stayed rooted in place, staring down at his hand joined with Knox's and marveling.

Ava shot up from her chair at the sound of his voice. It wasn't right; it was like he'd swallowed too much water and was fighting back a sputter.

"He's showing me," Fred said in the same tight voice. Ava inched to the side as quietly as she could until she was in view of his face—his eyes were squeezed shut.

"Showing you what?" Ava whispered. She was standing on her tiptoes, for some reason.

"Faces...places...things..." His entire face was screwed up now, scrunching around his eyes like he was trying to focus as hard as he could on the inside of his lids. "Everything. He's showing me everything."

_'I'm going to tell you.'_

_'Tell me what?'_

_'Everything. I'm going to tell you everything.' _

It had happened again: There was touch, there was trust, and then there was the truth.

After that, no one dared move or speak. Ava reckoned a tornado could have come through the house and they all would have stayed rooted.

They stayed there, Fred, Knox, and the bear with the missing eyeballs, a kaleidoscope of flashing colors. He was a broken boy, and he was desperately holding on to the only thing that had ever made him laugh—Fred—and showing him every last moment, every last memory, and every last one of Gridgeon's dirtiest, quietest secrets.


End file.
